


stick to the script

by fantasize



Category: Never Have I Ever (TV)
Genre: AU, Acting, Banter, Benvi, Elpax, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, F/M, Not Canon Compliant, Pining, adult benvi, but more adulty, i've had this idea for a month now, just now decided to write it hehe, scriptwriting, slowburnnnn, this wasn't supposed to be this long, well duh that's a given, writer's room, yes this has the actors falling in love trope too
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-18
Updated: 2020-10-15
Packaged: 2021-03-06 17:54:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 35,801
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26242990
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fantasize/pseuds/fantasize
Summary: when devi, an aspiring scriptwriter, signs a writer-performer contract for a network show, she thinks her life is set— except it isn't, because her enemy (more maturely referred to ascoworker) makes it hard for her to believe otherwise.
Relationships: Ben Gross & Devi Vishwakumar, Ben Gross/Devi Vishwakumar, Mentions of Devi/Paxton - Relationship, Mentions of Eleanor/Paxton, Mentions of Fabiola/Eve
Comments: 29
Kudos: 76





	1. i know you're dying, trying to figure me out

**Author's Note:**

> hello!
> 
> im back with a benvi fic (who's surprised) and whaddya know, it's chaptered! ive been working with this idea for months now, but i actually started working on it when my classes started (those have been keeping me reallll busy). i was thinking about mindy kaling and bj novak's confusing relationship, about how ben is eerily similar to bj novak, and about how devi is semi-based off of mindy's own young self, and thought- wait a minute. why don't i put devi and ben in a writer's room? it all kinda spiraled from there. 
> 
> i tried really hard with improving my writing for this one, not sure if it's better but... i tried lol. most of this is prewritten, save for the last few parts of the third chapter, but yee :D updates will be most probably be weekly because of how busy i am but we'll see. 
> 
> few things to clarify in order to clear any confusion:  
> \- everyone is aged up (including shapiro)  
> \- eleanor, paxton, rebecca, and oliver get introduced in the second chapter  
> \- anytime a block of text is italicized, it's devi's inner script  
> \- the edits of the script in her head --> (** skjksj **) will be written in first pov since it's in her head
> 
> i know absolutely nothing about production but i did a lot of research. very likely the process isn't depicted 100% accurately but i tried lol
> 
> if u see any errors, je suis désolée (sorry i have french so my mind is boggled, this means 'i am sorry'). i rush when i edit usually so uh. it is what it is
> 
> anyways, enjoy <3
> 
> (script idea heavily inspired by roommate's buzzed)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _He laughs dryly. "I also know you have a Fireboy and Watergirl tab open everyday, and you switch to it once every two hours."_
> 
> _"Okay, why are you paying so much attention to what I do? Obsessed much?"_
> 
> _She expects him to comeback with some witty retort like usual, but he thins his lips into a straight line instead, deep in thought. "I guess there's nothing more interesting to focus on than you," he responds, a little too nonchalantly, before going back to typing._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i love how i decided to write them as adults in an au setting yet i still made them fight like children. ahhh gotta love benvi's dynamic
> 
> (chapter title from future nostalgia by dua lipa)

_FADE INTO:_

_**INT. NBC WRITING STUDIO - DAY.** _

_Our main protagonist sits on a tattered rotating chair, nervously twisting and turning, feet jittery, hands clammy. Pan across the scene until we see two other men sitting diagonally across her, arms resting on the brown-hazel-coffee-cocoa-umber colored table. (** Points for extra detail, Professor Darren would be proud **)_

_Wide angle shot of the three gathered in the meeting room, eyebrows furrowed in varying sizes of knots. GLASSES DUDE (** Come on, you don’t even know their names yet? **) murmurs something unintelligible to POSSIBLE STONER (** Again with the horrible name replacements **), eyeing the protagonist. (** Is it narcissistic to make yourself the main protagonist? Well, it is the screenplay of my own life, so… **)_

_**DEVI** _

_It’s cold in here._

_She shivers, to add extra effect, but the men don’t laugh, or offer any sort of reaction. There’s nothing but silence for a while, rivaled only by the occasional sound of creaking wood, the humming of the air conditioning, the low murmur of their laptops gathered at the conference table. She doesn’t heed much to their clear coldness, because she’s the best dressed out of them three anyways. (** Where is the correlation? **)_

_**DEVI** _

_When does the director arrive?_

_The one with glasses finally turns to regard DEVI._

_**GLASSES DUDE** _

_Uh…_

_(glances down at watch)_

_In about five minutes._

_**DEVI** _

_Cool._

_DEVI drums her fingers against the table, clearly uneasy and uncomfortable. She’s more disgruntled thinking about how she’ll spend the next six months writing for a show with such boring, empty-minded people, and hopes that the rest of the writing staff and especially the director won’t be as much of a bum. (** This is not how you write a script in your head, Devi. How will people know all of the character’s inner thoughts if they’re not said or shown? Stick to writing Harry Potter fanfiction **)_

_Five minutes pass._

_A girl enters. Her hair is curly, and her smile is infectious. She takes a seat next to DEVI._

_**PRETTY GIRL** (** Again with the names, sigh **) _

_Hi… I’m in the right room, right?_

_**DEVI** _

_Writers for Make The Best Of It? Yep, right room. _

_**PRETTY GIRL** _

_Ah. I'm Fabiola._

_**DEVI** _

_(extends a hand cordially)_

_Devi. Nice to meet you._

_**PRETTY GIRL** _

_(shakes her hand twice before letting go)_

_Same here. The energy here is…_

_She pauses, looking around with a frown, and the other girl laughs._

_**DEVI** _

_Dull?_

_**FABIOLA** _

_(chuckles nervously, while taking off her coat)_

_Dull is a very fitting word, yes._

_**DEVI** _

_(groans)_

_The director was supposed to show up by now. I’m so tired of waiting..._

_**FABIOLA** _

_Well, I think you can stop waiting._

_Eerily convenient, a man seeming to be around the age of fifty walks into the room, coffee cup in his hand and donning colorful attire. He looks like an art teacher, or maybe a history teacher, or both. (** What the fuck happened to writing professional prose, Devi? **) Everyone watches with wide eyes as he takes a seat near the front, reserved for the boss._

_**DIRECTOR** _

_(smiles warmly)_

_Good morning, everyone. My name is Adam Shapiro, but I’d prefer if you all just called me by my last name, okay fam? _

_DEVI exchanges a look with FABIOLA, a little taken aback by the sudden use of teenage slang._

_**FABIOLA** _

_Uh… fam? _

_**SHAPIRO** _

_Fam? Like, family? Come on, guys! Catch up with the times. _

_**GLASSES DUDE** _

_We’re in our twenties now… why would we use slang?_

_DEVI scoffs. She’d rather use cringey teen slang than be viewed as an uncool granny. (** Again with the inner thoughts, this is terrible script writing…**)_

_**SHAPIRO** _

_Anyways, for the next three weeks, we’ll be meeting here every day at nine am sharp. But I’m surprised at how none of you shook my hands—_

Oh. 

Oh _shit._

This is actually happening.

The other two men scramble up, immediately shaking hands with the man and greeting him. Devi scoffs, a little miffed at their sudden mood change (but then again, she was the same in elementary, a complete kiss ass to the teacher). 

After exchanging hand germs with the girls right after, he looks down at his phone, eyebrows crinkled. “We have seven writers, yet only five are in this room?”

Devi clears her throat. “Uh, five? I think you mean four.”

“I’m a writer as well,” he clarifies, still not looking up from his cellular device. “So five.”

The room goes silent yet again, and Devi reels over. She just attempted to correct the director, her boss for the next six months, the _superior_ in charge. She can practically hear her Mom's scolding in her head.

“Okay, so,” he speaks, biting his bottom lip. “Let’s just take attendance, and that way I’ll know who’s running late.”

Devi resists a scoff, amused at him taking attendance. They’re not exactly teenagers anymore, more like grown ass twenty-five year olds, but roll call is something that she can never seem to escape. 

“Eric Hoffman?”

“Here,” Glasses Dude says, raising his hand. She makes an internal note to remember his actual name this time. 

“Trent Harrison?”

“Present,” Possible Stoner answers, and his voice only gives her more confirmation that he probably _does_ like to smoke weed often. 

At this point in time, Devi is so bored, so terribly bored, so excruciatingly bored, that she decides switching to script mode inside her head will keep her busier. 

_**SHAPIRO** _

_Devi Vishwakumar is here, so…_

_(traces his finger down the attendance list, clicks his tongue)_

_The ones missing are Kamal Dewan, and Ben—_

_**UNKNOWN** _

_Ben Gross!_

_A boy slides in, with a panicked expression. His hair is short but a little curly at the ends, he has a poorly shaven stubble, his skin is glistening from sweat, most probably formed from running, based on the way he’s panting. He has a jacket on, but underneath is a blue button up shirt, with an odd pattern of the letter T (** Why T? **). More eye catching than anything though, are his eyes. They’re big, bright, and so, so blue, the shade of an ocean’s tides. They make DEVI’s heart beat (** Uhh, what is going on? **) and her cheeks go crimson._

_Underneath his arm rests a small bag, very business-like, formal and rich looking— it’s then that DEVI’s eyes land on his belt, which has a Gucci logo on it._

_**BEN** _

_Here… I’m here. Sorry for being late, my car broke down, so I had to take the transit, but the transit got so crowded that I had to catch another bus from that stop and—_

_**SHAPIRO** _

_It’s okay! Do you need some water?_

_BEN takes a seat across DEVI, right in front of her. He looks around, smiling at his coworkers, but his gaze lingers longer on the girl sitting in front of him. (** Why did you observe something so minuscule and unnecessary, Devi? **)_

_**BEN** _

_Uh, no thank you._

It’s tiring, observing every little motion that the people around her do, just to write out a stupid script in her head that she won’t remember the next day. It’s also been her, well, _only_ hobby ever since she learned that movie and show characters were just actors reading off pre-written lines. 

Plus, now that things are getting interesting, it's time to live in the moment... whatever the hell that means.

She looks at Ben, and then smiles. He grins back, with equal enthusiasm, and Devi thinks that they might get along very well.

“So. I’ve already sketched out seven plots for seven episodes,” Shapiro explains, while sliding a list down the table. “As we all know, the overall plot of this show is about two single adults who become caregivers to an orphaned girl when her parents, who are their mutual best friends, die unexpectedly. How? We haven’t decided yet.” 

Devi squints, narrowing her eyes. “Wait, now that you put it that way… it sounds uncannily similar to that movie, uh… _Life As We Know It?_ ”

Shapiro clicks his tongue. “Well, no, there are many differences. For one, the two characters in the movie hate each other at the start. Our main characters will not be enemies, they’re just different.”

“Different?” Fabiola questions. 

“Yes,” he affirms, nodding. “Sasha is a twenty four year old, nerdy veterinarian… Xavier is a television technical sports director—”

“Exactly like Eric from the movie,” Devi buts in, immediately regretting it. Surprisingly, Shapiro doesn’t comment on her very bad manners.

“Yes, some things will be the same, but… overall, it’s very different. Plus, we’re aiming for a diverse cast, and a lot of the characters will be different too. We’re planning to add queer relationships as well. Each episode is approx half an hour, which leaves us with… uh… how many more hours than the normal length of a feature film? Someone do the math—”

“Around eighty-three minutes,” both Ben and Devi blurt out, at the same time. 

“Yes, that. So, we have much more time to go through various different sub plots, etcetera. Anyways, we need to distribute the episodes among us seven so we can get started. The earlier, the better.”

Devi snatches the paper before anyone else can, to skim through the plots of the episodes. If she wants to do a good job, she needs to write for her favorite.

**Epis** **ode 1 - unnamed: Reagan and Chris are happy newlyweds, but their two best friends don’t seem to get along.**

**Episode 2 - unnamed: After the sudden death of their mutual best friends, Sasha and Xavier are tasked with temporarily babysitting their now orphaned baby, Sana.**

**Episode 3 - unnamed: Learning they were appointed as joint guardians of Sana in case of an emergency, and that none of Reagan and Chris’ relatives are able to take care of her, the two are forced to move in and temporarily have custody over Sana.**

**Episode 4 - unnamed: The two bond over parenting Sana, and start to grow feelings for one another, but are forced to make sacrifices to take care of the baby.**

**Episode 5 - unnamed: Sasha and Xavier struggle to take care of Sana due to their demanding careers and schedules, and their Child Protective Services caseworker points it out, which leads to a fight between the two. In the aftermath, Xavier leaves the city for a promising job opportunity.**

**Episode 6 - unnamed: Xavier comes back, revealing that he decided to stick to the job placement he has in the city, because he misses Sasha and Sana, but he returns to see Sasha with another man.**

**Episode 7 - unnamed: Xavier and Sasha patch things up and learn to be honest with each other, for once.**

“I’m genuinely concerned we’ll be put in court for copyright infringement,” she starts, dragging her palm down the side of her face. “This is way too similar.”

“That’s why we’ve recruited you guys! Most of you are fairly new, yet promising talents. With your creative input, we can change the plot here and there to make it more original. Also, let’s be real, _NBC_ isn’t planning for this show to become a big hit or anything, so try your best for the first season!” Shapiro explains, a little too excited, _freakishly_ excited.

“Hopefully we get a season two,” he continues, with crossed fingers.

Devi sighs, shaking her head. 

“Uh, excuse me,” Ben says, and to her surprise, his voice is a lot more honey-like at this neutral tone. “David, can I have the paper?”

_Hold up. David?_

She heats up almost immediately, her hands balling into fists. Suddenly, any good thought she had about him when he first walked into the room is completely scrapped, thrown out the window like her tenth grade math textbook.

“What did you just call me?”

He looks at her, slightly annoyed, before pointing to the paper in her hand. “David. Is that not your name?”

“Do I look like a man to you? It’s _Devi,_ moron,” she retorts, and gasps come from all around. Ben doesn’t say anything for a while— he just stares at her with a graze of pink on his cheeks, stunned at her abrasiveness, but then it all morphs into frustration. 

“Sorry, I misheard,” he says, a line drawn between his eyebrows. “Now, _Devi,_ can I have the paper?”

The paper crinkles in her tight hold, before she loosens up at the sight of her boss eyeing her. She reluctantly hands it to the boy sitting in front of her, but her jaw is still clenched.

Observing the way he sits straight, with his nose up all snooty like in the air, Devi starts to come to the conclusion that this guy clearly thinks he’s _hot shit._ But he isn’t, he isn’t at all, because she’s easily the best writer here, and she’s not going to let some random guy steal her shine. 

After minutes of paper passing, Shapiro finally clears his throat. “So, who wants to write the pilot—”

“Me!” Devi and Ben yell, synchronously yet again. 

The pilot of an episode is the one the best writer gets assigned— it’s common knowledge. First impressions are always the key to what people think of something, and for television shows in particular, the start and the end are the most important, the start even more. It has to be good, creative, innovative, it has to set the mood, the tone, _everything._

She doesn't like to toot her own horn often, but she definitely thinks that she deserves to write the pilot. _Way more_ than Ben Gross, who can’t even get her four lettered name right. 

“I asked first!” Ben argues, voice a little shrill. 

“I asked a millisecond before he did!” Devi counters, crossing her arms. 

“Guys,” Shapiro pauses to massage his temples. “You two are not teens. So act like adults, otherwise I’m assigning the pilot to Fabiola, who has been comparatively more cooperative than either of you.”

Devi bites her tongue to prevent herself from saying something utterly stupid, and breathes in, trying to calm herself. “Ben,” she begins, in a serene tone. “I think I deserve to write the pilot, because I have more experience in script writing. I’ve written for so many college plays, I shadowed Mindy freaking Kaling while she was writing for her new show, I was an intern for a late night show.”

“How are you so sure I have less experience than you?” he questions, scoffing. “I think I deserve to write the pilot, because _I_ have more experience than you in script writing. I also wrote for college plays, even off-Broadway plays. I’ve done stand-up before, I graduated from Yale—”

“And I graduated from Princeton,” Devi interjects, a little rudely. 

“Does it matter?” He then whips his head around to face Shapiro, glaring at him pointedly. “Now, tell me honestly. Who should write the pilot?”

Shapiro gulps, under pressure from the way the two are staring him down, his Adam’s Apple bobbing as he ponders an answer. 

“Ben,” he speaks, after an unbearable streak of silence. “I’ll give the pilot to you.”

Devi almost immediately gasps, flailing her arms in the air. “Are you for real? This is so unfair!”

“Listen, you two are equally talented, I’ve read your amazing spec scripts and they’re the reason you guys are here! Devi, I’ll give you the finale, okay?”

She grunts, but doesn’t argue any further. It's obvious he's trying to coax her to calm down. If this was high school, she would have probably lunged at her boss already, but she _is_ an adult now. She has to start behaving like one. 

As the rest of the group continue to distribute episodes in a much more civil manner, she slumps down her chair, still furious over not getting the pilot. 

She finally lifts her head to look Ben in the eyes, her eyebrows furrowed.

(His eyes are blue, varying in different shades, midnight blue most often, and sky blue when the light hits right, but no matter the color, they’re still intense, bright, inviting, encapsulating—)

The corners of his lips tug up into a conniving smirk, and it makes every part of Devi burn, it makes her blood boil, it makes her jaw pain from how hard it’s being clenched. 

It’s unfortunate, how she thought minutes ago, that he would be the one she’d get along with the best. In reality, she can’t _stand_ Ben Gross. Not when he’s so egotistical, so conceited. 

Devi resolves to show him who’s better, because she is, and she _always_ will be.

* * *

The first week of writing is a little rocky for Devi, who spends half her time scratching her head for good ideas. Of course, the first day, they go in detail about major plot points, and characteristics of certain characters— Shapiro even draws out a sketch of what wardrobe they’d wear and what their hobbies are, to make it easier for them to write the characters seamlessly. 

The days after just constitute of them gathering at 9 AM, and spreading throughout the room, typing away on their computers. Devi doesn’t really make an effort to talk to Eric or Trent, mainly because they sit at the opposite side of the room, sticking with each other. So, she chats with Fabiola instead— who turns out to be super sweet and very good at helping her with descriptors. 

Kamal Dewan rarely shows up at work, and he types his scripts out at home instead, for some unbeknownst reason that she doesn’t have enough time to get into. From the ten minutes she’s conversed with him, though, he seems nice.

Shapiro is the type to walk around, even with his laptop in his hand, going through what the other writers have done so far and offering constructive criticism, which Devi has learnt to deal with in a less abrasive way than she normally would years ago. 

Ben, however, sits in a corner by himself, silently, typing away and occasionally jotting down notes on paper. Like a true lone wolf, he doesn’t bother talking to anyone, other than a greeting when arriving and a goodbye when leaving. 

Sometimes, he looks at Devi though, but his eyes flit away when she notices.

Today marks seven days since she’s started on this script. She should be proud, but there isn’t much to be proud of, because her document is only a page long.

She’s still working in her little DIY cubicle at 2 AM on a Saturday night— more like Sunday morning— not because she doesn’t have somewhere else to be (even though she doesn’t) but because there’s nowhere else she would rather be. It’s like a sugar rush, thinking about how she’s finally writing for such a big company like _NBC._ Plus, there’s a heavy chance these might be the only seven episodes they'll ever write for, which just gives her more reason to work even harder. 

Ben is also staying overnight. He’s holed up in his usual corner, lounging on a sofa and downing his sixth cup of coffee while smashing keys. They’re the only ones who are bothering to work this late. 

The two don’t talk. 

She ponders on sending him an article about why too much caffeine isn’t good for one’s health— she has his number thanks to the _Make the Best of It_ writers' groupchat— but decides against it. Why does she care anyways? It’s his life, his choices. Doesn’t affect her, in any way, whatsoever. 

Much to Devi’s surprise, at 2:15, Ben pokes his head in her cubicle, rolling his chair beside hers. 

“Were you that girl?” he asks. 

She's still enraged about him stealing the pilot from her, but alas, she turns to face him, confused. “Elaborate.”

He has his laptop placed on his thighs, face limned by the screen's brightness and the dim lightbulbs fixated on the ceiling. “You were that girl in school,” he says. “The overachiever sitting front row, hand raised all the time, assignments completed weeks before. You were probably in band. I would say you played the clarinet, but you seem like the type to play some unnecessarily difficult instrument, just to seem more interesting. Cello, maybe. Or harp.”

Devi sneers, a little freaked out at how he’s nailing her personality down to a T. 

“You were in debate club,” he continues, and she perks up at him finally getting something wrong.

“I was not,” she debunks, proudly. “I had a phase where I said ‘like’ too much, so that didn’t work out.”

“But everything else I said was right, wasn’t it?” He questions, almost boastingly, and she flickers her eyes back to the screen, ~~confused as to why she’s finding his sureness a little attractive.~~

“And you, Gross, were probably an overachiever just like me, except the more annoying version. I bet you were teacher’s pet, every single year. You were in Model UN, you just have that know-it-all attitude every kid in that club had. You were in Acapella, maybe even in band. You played the cello—”

“Wrong,” Ben interjects, swiveling his chair left, and then right. “I wasn’t in band.”

Devi scoffs. “Of course you wouldn’t have the deftness to be well versed in an instrument.”

“I know how to play the recorder,” he argues, a little defensively, and Devi smirks. 

“Your knowledge probably only goes as far as _Hot Cross Buns._ ”

“Wrong again, I also know how to play _Mary Had A Little Lamb,_ and that one _Spongebob_ song.”

“Well, I can play a forty-seven stringed instrument, so.”

He slides just a bit closer to her. “Aha! So I was right about you playing the harp. You just have that overachieving look about you.”

She leans into the back of her chair, finally tearing her gaze off her laptop screen. “ _Overachieving_ look?” 

“You’re here and working,” he answers, shrugging. 

“So are you!” she exclaims, to which he shrugs again at, infuriating her. Ben is figuring her out so easily, like she’s an open book, especially when she tries so hard _not_ to be. It makes her irrationally angry, because he’s _not_ supposed to know anything about her. Yet why is he poking and prodding into her soul, without consent?

“You know what,” she seethes. “If you’re not a white dude, you have to make shit happen. You don’t just, like, I don’t know, go to Yale and do stand-up at some random bar or whatever.”

Ben pauses, looking a little bewildered, and she can practically feel him recoiling. “Says the Princeton grad,” he replies, while standing up on his feet, and shutting his laptop. “Anyways, I’m gonna go. That was kind of uncomfortable, having my education, my whiteness, and my maleness attacked all at once.”

She gulps nervously, and goes back to staring at her screen. From her peripheral, she can see him packing up, getting ready to leave, and for some reason, she doesn’t want him to go. But at the end of the day he _is_ her annoying coworker; sometimes fun to talk to, but annoying nevertheless. 

Still, she feels a tiny bit apologetic at her outburst, and can’t tell if he’s genuinely upset, or just joking. “Sorry,” she whispers, looking up at him with curious eyes. 

“Never said I disliked it,” is all he says, before he’s out the door, and successfully left her mind reeling.

* * *

_FADE INTO:_

_**INT. NBC WRITING STUDIO - NIGHT.** _

_It’s been a weird two weeks, consisting of chatting with Fabiola during the day, and chatting (** More like bickering **) with Ben during the night. So far, our main protagonist has not gotten far in writing her script for the show, at all._

_BEN, our notorious villain however, (** Him being the villain in the imaginary screenplay of my own life has got to be the meanest thing I’ve done to him, even though it’s without his knowledge **) claims he’s halfway done— which somehow propels DEVI to work even harder and faster. They’ve developed a sort of competition between them, making it into a race to see who can finish their draft the fastest._

_This night, she’s sitting with her feet propped up on his desk, laptop securely placed on her thighs. She steals his coffee, taking a sip from it, and the most he does is raise his eyebrows, more focused on his script._

_**DEVI** _

_Have you ever thought about the fact that rush hour traffic is the slowest type of traffic?_

_BEN looks up to regard DEVI, but only for a quick second._

_**BEN** _

_Did you get that from the shower thoughts subreddit?_

_**DEVI** _

_(sneers)_

_Oh, please, it was all original. You’re the type to have a Reddit account, not me._

_He doesn’t say anything, just continues working. Close up on DEVI as she gulps down hard, smirk forming and lips pursed. (** Camera directions too? How bored are you right now, Devi? As if referring to yourself in third person wasn’t ridiculous enough **)_

_**DEVI** _

_No, but… don’t I have a point there? Why is it called rush-hour traffic? That’s such a dumb—_

“David, please,” he interrupts, pleadingly. Then, he asks, his voice no longer pained, “What did you think of the farting line? Too gross or not gross enough?”

She sits still and mulls it over for a while, before answering with, “It would be a perfect amount of gross if Xavier hates Sasha, but he doesn’t.”

Ben groans, throwing his head back. It’s then that his eyebags become visible to her, and it makes her feel a little better about her own. They really need to stop working overnight.

“But the description says they don’t get along _well,_ ” he complains. 

“You’re right, but you’re writing their conversations more as banter, than just mutual dislike.”

“Is banter not the result of two people disliking one another?”

“I’m afraid not,” she responds, a little unsure now. 

Ben smirks, and he shuffles his chair closer to hers, dragging the wheels across the squeaky clean floor with a _screech_. “I based their dynamic on us.”

She pales, almost immediately. What exactly is she supposed to take from that? 

“Why?” she chokes out. 

“Because,” he brings the wooden pencil to his lips, gently pressing the eraser part against them. “We don’t like each other, and we’re a little more witty than the average human being, probably because we studied how to write English for a living. So I thought we're a good enough basis for these two.”

“You’re an idiot,” is all she can reply with, voice sounding a little constrained, mainly because his argument does _kind of_ make sense. It’s just weird, because the main characters of their show end up together romantically, whereas they…

"You sound oddly defensive. I wonder why,” he mumbles, before going back to typing furiously on his keyboard. 

"Stop wondering," she says, taking another sip of his coffee— at this point, it's pretty much become hers. "I'm just giving you my feedback, like you wanted."

"David," he sighs, and she resists the urge to beat him up at the nickname he's coined for her. When she asked him about it the first time it came out of his mouth, he claimed it would be ironically funny to call her that, whatever that meant. "What have you been stuck on for the past two days?"

"What do you mean?"

"You think I haven't noticed you staring at the thirtieth page of your document for days now?"

She immediately stiffens up, shifting her position so that her laptop is facing away from the boy. "I don't know how to start this outdoor scene the right way. Also, terrible manners on your part, peeking at what I do without my consent."

He laughs dryly. "I also know you have a _Fireboy and Watergirl_ tab open everyday, and you switch to it once every two hours."

"Okay, why are you paying so much attention to what I do? Obsessed much?"

She expects him to comeback with some witty retort like usual, but he thins his lips into a straight line instead, deep in thought. "I guess there's nothing more interesting to focus on than you," he responds, a little too nonchalantly, before going back to typing. 

"Also," he starts again, still intently looking at the screen, and Devi wonders whether he's purposely ignoring her wide eyes at the weird compliment he gave her seconds ago. "Start with a weather descriptor. It'll set the mood of the scene."

She holds back a grin, nodding at his actually helpful advice. 

Ben Gross is a dick, yes, but she's learnt he's also sort of helpful when he wants to be.

* * *

_FADE INTO:_

_**INT. NBC WRITING STUDIO - NIGHT.** _

_Another Saturday, three weeks into writing their first drafts, DEVI finds herself lounging next to BEN, eyes glued to the bright computer screen. The room is completely dark, save for the brightness of their screens, and she’s well aware it's an unhealthy strain on her eyes, but it doesn’t stop her from working. She figures following the 20-20 rule every now and then is enough._

_BEN sits on the other side of the couch, legs criss-cross, as he tries not to fall asleep._

_**DEVI** _

_It’s 3 AM._

_**BEN** _

_I can tell time just fine._

_**DEVI** _

_(sighs)_

_I’m just saying. Everyone else only works from nine to five. Why are you here at such late hours?_

_**BEN** _

_I could ask you the same thing._

_**DEVI** _

_I asked you first._

_**BEN** _

_(stretches out his arms, yawning)_

_I’d rather be here than in my apartment, alone. Plus, I guess I’ve always been a workaholic._

_**DEVI** _

_Where do you live?_

_BEN snorts, craning his neck to peer at her._

_**BEN** _

_That’s a bit creepy to ask._

_She continues to stare at him, expectant of an answer._

_**BEN** _

_Alright, I live twenty minutes away from here._

_**DEVI** _

_Do you drive? Or do you have a chauffeur, rich boy?_

_BEN visibly blanches, and DEVI isn’t sure why._

_**BEN** _

_No, I drive my own car. I decided to start afresh when I moved here to start my career. I know you’ve heard my father’s rich, from where exactly, I’m not sure—_

_**DEVI** _

_You made it clear when Shapiro asked about your childhood and you name dropped fifteen celebs. Of course we know your family’s rich._

_**BEN** _

_Yeah, yeah, but hear me out. Them being rich came at a cost. I was always alone growing up. It’s why I was such a try hard in class, so I could get their attention, but it never worked._

_**DEVI** _

_… Oh._

_A silence falls upon them, the sort of quietness that makes one want to bang their head against a wall because of how awkward it is. He looks so sullen that it weirds her out, since she’s so used to seeing him in a brighter mood._

_**DEVI** _

_Do you still talk to your parents?_

_**BEN** _

_Every now and then. But the last time I saw them in person was maybe… three years ago?_

_**DEVI** _

_Jesus, that’s…_

_**BEN** _

_Whatever. Not that big of a deal._

**_DEVI_ **

_You don’t have to lie and play it cool. I mean, I don’t get along that well with my mother yet I can’t imagine not seeing her face every month._

_DEVI’s eyes flicker to the boy sitting in front of her, observing his every little motion, every detail, like the way his blue T-shirt is a size too small for him—_

_**BEN** _

_Why do you do that?_

_She blinks her eyes, confusedly._

_**DEVI** _

_Do what?_

_**BEN** _

_That._

_(points his finger at her face)_

_I’ve noticed you sometimes spend seconds staring at people, observing their every move. You also zone out often. Why?_

_DEVI heaves a sigh and hangs her head low, seeming morose at being caught red-handed. (** Maybe now’s a good time to stop writing this stupid script in your own head, Devi **)_

“You’re going to make fun of me,” she whispers, her lips falling into a pout. 

“I won’t.” Ben affirms, so curtly that it’s believable. 

“Ever since I was young, I’ve been fascinated by the idea of cinema, and television. The idea of scripts, the idea of screenplays, the idea of stories, actors, cameras, big sets. My Dad worked as a cameraman part-time, so sometimes I’d come with him to work, and I always found myself immersed in the writing side of it.”

“You signed a writer-performer contract for this show, like me, right?”

“Yeah, but that doesn’t mean we’ll be acting. I like performing, but I always liked writing more.”

_Same,_ Ben mouths, and then motions for her to continue. 

“Anyways, while growing up, I found myself bored often. Whether it was at school, or at home. And since I grew up as an only child, I was kind of forced to be imaginative. So, I started writing the things that were going around me into a script, but not on paper. In my head. The script of my life.”

“The script of your own life? Like, an autobiography of some sort?” he questions, incredulous, but it doesn’t sound like he’s looking down on her— he sounds more interested, more intrigued. She’s pleasantly relieved that he’s not making fun of her.

“Kinda. I’m the main protagonist.”

“So you’re an anti-hero?”

Devi gives Ben a light shove, rolling her eyes. “Shut up.”

“Okay, but who’s the antagonist then?”

She stifles a laugh. “The villain in my story changes as I grow up and enter new chapters in my life. Guess who it is currently?”

He hums in thought, before looking over his laptop screen with wide, wide eyes, pursing his lips, and then furrowing his eyebrows when he’s met with nothing but a discerning gaze from Devi. “Oh, fuck you,” he retorts, but there’s nothing resentful in his tone. It’s more lighthearted, if anything.

She shrugs. “It is what it is.”

Then, he slumps down the couch, to which she resists commenting on his bad posture. “I imagine you must talk to your father often. You two sound close,” he murmurs, voice no louder than a faint hum, and Devi finds herself paling almost immediately after the words have left his mouth. 

“Um, no. He’s dead.”

Ben chokes, either on his spit, or on air, or both. Whatever it is, he seems a little taken aback, and she immediately recoils at the thought of him _pitying_ her, refusing to bicker with her or insult her any longer after learning this tragic part of her life. She cannot afford to have him pansy out now. 

“Sorry for your loss,” is all he says after a long pause, eyes glued to his laptop, refusing to meet her gaze. 

“It’s alright. Honestly, my entire high school experience was about learning to get over it, so don’t worry. Please don’t walk on eggshells around me,” she says, or basically pleads.

Suddenly, he loosens up, offering her a half genuine smirk. “I already am,” he begins in a playful tone. “Walking on eggshells talking to you, that is. One insult too many and your psycho ass will probably poison my salad.”

That shouldn’t make her smile, and yet it does— weirdly, into her laptop screen, out of Ben’s sight. 

* * *

_FADE INTO:_

_**INT. COFFEE EXPRESS - DAY.** _

_The shop is filled with people today, scattered around with their friends, but everything is weirdly quiet, to which DEVI has no complaints about. While waiting in the long line, she just finished talking to her cousin, KAMALA, over the phone, (** Hard to imagine that at one point she was a villain in your story only because she was pretty **) who spent most of her time gushing about her husband, PRASHANT, or spilling all the details about DEVI's mother contemplating early retirement._

_DEVI heaves a sigh at the sound of someone sneezing nearby, shattering the silence, putting a dent at the peace in the room. Suddenly, everyone around her starts to talk louder, and it makes her head throb. She wishes she brought her headphones, (** Stop with the internal thoughts already **) so at least then, she would be able to drown out the disturbing conversations being held around her._

_Out of nowhere, a man buts in front of her, his height slightly taller than his, and curly, yet familiar short strands of hair coming out his beanie._

_**DEVI** _

_Uh, excuse me, you asshole?_

He whips around, and Devi immediately frowns at recognizing who he is.

“What? I’m your friend, right?” Ben questions with a shit-eating grin, crossing his arms.

She scoffs, her jacket starting to feel heavier than it is. “Okay, first of all, no, and second of all, nothing gives you the right to cut in line like that! Not even being a friend of mine!”

“Have you _seen_ how long the line is? Plus, it’s eight forty, I can’t afford to be late at work.”

“Well, at least you have a car. I have to walk to the office from here.”

“Who said I couldn’t drive you?”

Devi stills, in shock at his polite, yet somehow condescending remark. “I will never, and I mean _never,_ become one of those girls sitting in your stupid fucking Porsche.”

“I haven’t dated anyone since bagging this job, but you assuming I get chicks on the daily is a compliment I’ll happily take,” he replies, smirking connivingly, and she wants to slap it off his stupid face. “Are we really not friends?”

“We’re coworkers,” she placates. “Fab is my friend.”

He scrunches his face, then mumbling, “What makes Fabiola and I different?”

She doesn't have to think twice about the answer to this one. “She’s nice and sweet. You’re the contrary.”

“I proofread your work all the time overnight,” he argues. “Isn’t the term for it quite literally, _peer_ editing?”

“Just—” she sighs, extremely frustrated. Grabbing him by the arms, she twists him around, because it’s multitudes easier to stare at his back than his face while insulting him. “—just shut up and face the front. Otherwise I’ll kick you out of this line.”

“David,” he begins, after a beat. “Do you hate me?”

“Of course not,” she replies, her mouth working faster than her brain. “I just can’t stand you.”

It’s then that she hears him finally let out a laugh, and she struggles to digest the fact that his titter makes something in her chest twinge, in a _good_ way. “You wound me,” he says, tilting his head in such an angle that only makes the right side of his face viewable. “I’ll pay for your drink.”

Before she can argue against it, he’s already swiping his credit card, and ordering their drinks (she’s shocked at how he’s accurately observed the coffee she usually orders, the _Chai Latte_ that rests on her desk during their night sessions).

Once they’re out, snowflakes dropping on to their skin, Ben doesn’t bother to bid her goodbye as he climbs into the driver’s seat of his car parked right outside. But then, he rolls down the window, and she freezes, hoping that he hasn’t caught her staring like a deer in headlights. 

“Get in,” he commands, and she wants to stomp away, to sustain whatever little pride she has left, but finds her feet unable to move in any other direction. And so, she trudges forward, reluctantly plopping down on the passenger seat, as she shuts the door. 

She shivers while Ben is starting up the car. It’s then that he turns the heat up a tad bit more, and it’s such a minuscule yet _kind_ gesture that Devi feels a strange sort of gratefulness radiating from within. 

“Thank you,” she says, not clarifying whether it’s for paying, the free drive, or turning up the heat. 

Devi doesn’t know why she blushes when he smiles at her in reply.

* * *

They’re running through their first drafts as a group— the scripts they’ve all spent six weeks working on— reading to themselves and making notes. Currently, she’s reading through the second episode, and she has a note that she’s excited to share, but also scared to death about. 

“So, I was thinking about the way Xavier reacts to finding out his friend was killed in a bus accident, and I think it’s a little, well… _too_ macho,” she begins, eyes nervously flickering to Shapiro, since it’s his episode. 

It’s not like he’s intimidating— he really isn’t. But he’s also the director, and technically her boss, and bosses are scary when they need to be. She hadn’t really acted very maturely the first day, thanks to her kerfuffle with Ben, but she’s tried toning down ever since then. It’s put a lid on her jar of creative input, but she doesn’t want to risk getting yelled at, or worse, even fired. 

Shapiro blinks. The rest just stare with their mouths a little agape, all with the exception of Ben, who has a slight, impressed expression on his face. 

“I— I just think that it’s important we show he has emotion. I mean, men cry. And since he comes off as unlikable in the beginning, we should show glimpses of his true character to the audience.”

She knows she’s crazy, offering the person with the most experience and accolades some constructive criticism, but at the end of the day, it’s her job, is it not?

Kamal rubs at his chin thoughtfully. “I don’t know Devi, I’m concerned about making him seem too soft when it’s just not in his character. Nothing to do with his gender.”

She resists commenting on the fact that he hasn't worked at the office five weeks out of six, which certainly must dampen the value of his opinion, but instead forces a smile onto her face and nods, looking back to the script in her hands. Lifting her head, she meets Ben’s eyes— his smile has now disappeared into a frown, and he furrows his eyebrows, shaking his head ever so disapprovingly. 

Devi can immediately tell what he’s encouraging her to do, and suddenly, she stands up, adrenaline coursing through her veins. 

“I’m sorry, but I just really, and completely disagree,” she starts, and the blue eyed boy lights up again, twirling his mechanical pencil in his fingers. “I personally think it fits his secret golden heart trope. He doesn’t have to ball up and sob ferociously or anything, but I think he should, at the most, tear up slightly, or seem in shock. There’s no need for him to pull a macho facade.”

After the longest pause in recorded history, Kamal finally says, “I think that’s compelling, even though I disagree. But it’s Shapiro’s episode, so...”

She turns to look at Shapiro, who's been visibly mulling it over this entire time. “I like the idea. It definitely sounds more modern, and realistic. You’re the _GOAT,_ Devi. Let’s edit that section together, later today.”

The girl nods, sitting back down. She feels Fabiola hold her hand from where she’s sitting beside, and squeeze it, in pride. 

And then, she looks at Ben, who’s grinning from ear to ear as he brings up his hand, secretly giving her a thumbs up. 

She tries not to betray her cool exterior, but she _really_ wants to hug him.

* * *

_FADE INTO:_

_**INT. THE LONG ISLAND BAR - NIGHT.** _

_Our three burnt out writers, DEVI, FABIOLA, and BEN, sit at the counter of one of the most popular bars in NYC, tentatively sipping away at their respective drinks. BEN drums his fingers against the rim of his glass, and his face crumples into a more pronounced frown while sliding the lemon slice off his cup. (** Okay, stop focusing on what he’s doing so much and pay attention to Fab as well, Devi! What are you doing? He’s supposed to be the villain! **)_

_Really, only DEVI and FABIOLA were supposed to go out, but for some reason, she felt weird leaving him alone to work in the office that late. So, she took it upon herself to invite him to their outing, but he refused, stating that he had dishes waiting to be washed back at his apartment, making a joke about being Lord Of The Rinse, which rendered him even more pathetic looking than she originally perceived him to be. That humiliation was all it took to coerce him into coming. (** This isn’t stuff you’re supposed to write in a script, Devi… but it's pretty much _ _established already that this isn’t meant to be professional in any way **)_

_FABIOLA seems serene, drinking glass after glass like there’s no tomorrow, but she also seems a little… lost in thought._

_**FABIOLA** _

_You know, last Saturday… I visited the office to hand in my edited script, with our revised group notes. I ended up overhearing the casting staff’s meeting._

_BEN blinks several times, then takes a shuddering breath. He looks weird when he does that. Then again, he’s always been a peculiar guy, especially when a little tipsy. (** Unnecessary detail **)_

_**DEVI** _

_What did you overhear?_

_**FABIOLA** _

_Well, they’ve narrowed down Xavier’s actor to two possible choices, and for Sasha there’s three. Of course, we decided to make the characters East Asian, with the advice of Lex, one of our creative supervisors, who’s Chinese herself, and they got perfect choices._

_**BEN** _

_Okay, none of this information you’re telling us is juicy enough. Very disappointing, Fab._

_**FABIOLA** _

_(rolls her eyes)_

_Apparently they’re having trouble casting Reagan and Chris._

_BEN cocks his head a little and coughs out._

_**BEN** _

_****Why though?_

_**FABIOLA** _

_Well, no one wants to audition for them because they only get, like, ten scenes before they’re killed off. And the people that are auditioning don’t really fit the bill. They’re searching for people around our age._

_DEVI breaks into light, awkward laughter._

_**DEVI** _

_Have they cast the baby yet?_

_BEN lets out a grunt._

_**BEN** _

_David, come on. How could they cast the baby before casting the parents? I mean, imagine having a white baby but POC parents? It doesn’t make sense._

_**FABIOLA** _

_He has a point._

_Now it’s DEVI’s turn to frown. She resembles a grumpy cat meme, the one that used to be popular years back._

_**DEVI** _

_Okay, whatever. How does this concern us? They’ll find someone eventually._

_**FABIOLA** _

_(clears her throat)_

_Well, if they don’t find someone in time for production, which, friendly reminder, is in seven days, they’ll have to cast the writers who signed under a writer-performer contract. _

_DEVI and BEN choke on their drink at the same time._

_**BEN** _

_Okay, hold up, what?!_

_**DEVI** _

_They can’t do that!_

_**FABIOLA** _

_Uh, of course they can. You idiots signed up for it. You’re under writer-performer contracts, are you not?_

_**BEN** _

_Dude, I have way more experience in writing than acting. The most acting I’ve done was a minor role in an off-Broadway play that I helped write._

_**DEVI** _

_Honestly, same. Except the extent of my performer credits stops at college. This is a nightmare._

_**BEN** _

_Wait, but, we’re not the only two. Trent is also under a writer-performer contract._

_**FABIOLA** _

_He is, so for the role of Chris, it’s either you or him. But Devi is the only female writer-performer on our staff, so, I’m afraid she…_

_**BEN** _

_...has no choice._

Devi slams her hands on the counter, shaking her head frivolously. “No. No way!”

Fabiola arches her eyebrows in response, and looks up at Devi with a dead expression. “You signed up for this.”

“They can’t make me do this against my own will!”

“You signed up for this,” she repeats, before throwing her head back, downing her fifth drink of the night all at once.

Ben is suspiciously quiet through it all, his hands curled into tight, _tight_ fists, and his the tips of his ears a rosy, _rosy_ red. 

“Ben,” Fabiola starts, nudging him by the shoulder. She sounds concerned. “Something wrong?”

“I… I just… I wrote all their scenes. They’re in the pilot,” he finally speaks, voice small. 

“So?”

“So,” he breathes in and out, avoiding looking at Devi. “They’re… fucking romantic. You remember, right? From the week we did group readings?”

Fabiola puffs her cheeks out, and then lets the trapped air escape, chuckling softly. “Those were _nothing._ A few kissing scenes, holding hands, touchiness, a wedding, having a baby together… that’s all you guys will have to do.”

When her friend puts it in that way, it makes Devi feel even more queasy. If she has to act out all those scenes with Ben…

Fabiola waves her hand towards the bartender, asking for another drink without any words. “Just be glad you didn’t write a sex scene in,” she jokes, but neither of them laugh. 

“Hey,” he starts, this time looking at Devi. “If this, well, _does_ happen… you’ll be more comfortable acting with Trent, right?”

Devi stills, unsure on what to answer. There’s the right answer, which is _yes,_ but then there’s the other answer, which has a hint of more honesty to it— about how she’s barely uttered a word to Trent, about how she’ll have to act all close and intimate with a stranger, and that she thinks intimacy would come easier with Ben, who she’s spent far more time with, had far more conversations with, who she knows far more about— but that answer is more dangerous, more _unsafe._

“I don’t think so,” she whispers, words tumbling from her lips without preamble.

Ben bites his bottom lip, before sighing. “Let’s just not think about this for now,” he says, voice cracking for a bit, then shifting into something steadier, a lot brighter. He fidgets in his seat, facing front, and a not-really-sober Devi lets her gaze linger on the curve of his jaw, just for a little, before switching her focus back to Fabiola. 

* * *

“Absolutely _not!_ ”

Shapiro sighs, running a hand through his tangled strands. “You two are under writer-performer contracts, did you guys not understand what you signed up for?”

“We didn’t think that we’d actually be needed!” Devi retorts, through gritted teeth. 

“Okay, I don’t get it. They’re roles at the forefront! You’ll be onscreen! Your face will be on TV screens!”

“That’s the _problem,_ ” the blue-eyed boy deadpans, his arms crossed. He appears to be tired, with eyebrows arched a touch, and the dark circles under his eyes terribly heavy from all their voluntary night shifts. “We don’t want our faces to be on screen, on a network television show. Have you seen our current state? This is the result of six rigorous weeks, spent just staring at computer screens day and night.”

“Hey, that's on you! You two could have just worked from nine to five like _everybody else,_ ” Shapiro points out, and they can’t even argue, because he's right. 

“Listen. It’s just— we don’t— it’s—”

Shapiro waves his hands in the air, prompting Devi to stop talking. “Yeah, yeah, you two don’t get along well, I know. But I’ve basically ran your chemistry tests in this very office. You both sure spend a lot of time with each other for two people who claim to hate one another.”

Ben snorts, not in an amused way.

“Plus, we have a half-Caucasian, half-Indian baby we could cast as Sana—”

The two writhe in uncomfortableness at the same time, the mention of their onscreen baby coming off more offensively ignorant than it was probably meant to be. 

“—and you two are the perfect age, the perfect look for young newlyweds madly in love.”

“ _Madly_ in love? Sure, she seemed so _madly_ in love with me yesterday when she expressed her disappointment at me just _being_ here,” he seethes, rolling his eyes.

“Hey, it’s not like you’ve been any nicer,” she retorts. 

Shapiro wears a false bright smile, trying to ease the tension of the room, but it remains thick and heavy. “Okay, well, at the end of the day, you two are friends, right? Or kind of?”

They both shrug, replying with, “I guess,” in complete unison.

“I’m not going to force you two to do anything. I could get Trent to do the role of Chris, if you guys truly think that’s a better idea. Or I could search really hard for an actress, for the role of Reagan.”

Ben visibly tightens his jaw at the sound of Trent’s name, though she’s unsure as to why. Devi quiets, coughing to remove the weird tight feeling in her throat. 

“Okay. We’ll do it.”

She whips her head around to face Ben, eyes bugged out and heart racing. _What the fuck,_ she mouths, and he whispers, “Trust me,” punctuating his statement with a perfunctory smile. 

Shapiro, of course, receives this affirmation very excitedly, yelping in relief and happiness. 

It’s only once they’re out of the _NBC_ building that Devi grips Ben’s arm, yanking him towards her angrily. 

“I have _so_ many questions… why, why, why, and why?”

“Hm, let’s see… extra paycheck, extra paycheck, extra paycheck, and extra paycheck,” he answers nonchalantly, but it’s too at ease to be the truth. 

(A part of her thought it was something else, something that made his gut stir in jealousy, because the way he stiffened up at the sound of Trent’s name is making her curious—)

She cocks an eyebrow, but nods anyway. He _is_ right, in a sense. They'll get paid extra for their roles, and the sound of more money being deposited in her bank account isn't terrible at all to hear. 

He clicks his tongue, and then juts his head down towards her deadlock grip on his arm, to which she loosens under his burning gaze. 

“Sorry,” she mutters, tucking a fray strand of hair behind her ear. 

Ben just scoffs, _smiles,_ a tiny upward curl on the corners of his lips, before he swivels on his feet, shoving his hands down his jacket pockets after fixing the drooping winter hat on his head.

She knows he won’t turn back, but yet she waits, waits and watches him strut towards his car. 

Suddenly, his heels skid to a stop, and he turns around. 

“Have a good weekend, David! Or, should I say, _Reagan?_ ”

She tells herself to hold back, to not encourage his skittish behavior, but unfortunately her heart is the puppeteer that pulls the strings connected to her body rather than her brain, and so she grins ear to ear, before yelling back with equal volume, “Goodnight, _Chris!_ ”

It’s concerning— the way her heart is beating a little fast, the way her cheeks are flushed and that it's definitely not from the cold winter breeze. But what scares her even more is thinking about acting with Ben. Holding his hand, raising a baby that’s meant to look like a combination of them, getting fake married, _kissing._ It’s all too much, too fast, even if it’s just a show for the camera. 

But as Robert Elliot once said, _“Rule number one is, don’t sweat the small stuff. Rule number two is, it’s all small stuff.”_ So she leaves this worry behind her, deciding that when it’s time to worry, she’ll worry. And _now_ is not that time. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> heyheyhey fellow reader! <3 if u enjoyed reading this, it would mean the world if you could leave a kudos, or a comment (i always reply!)


	2. burn your love into the ground with the lips of another

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _That realization makes her worry, makes her tremor a little— method acting, simply acting and not acting blurring together._
> 
> _He’s looking down at her with such an inviting warmth that for a second, she wonders if she wants to kiss him again. But then, Shapiro yells cut, and with the slamming of the clapperboard, normalcy returns._
> 
> _“Good job,” she speaks, springing upwards and distancing herself from Ben on the couch._
> 
> _“You too,” he responds, his voice hoarse._
> 
> _She doesn’t know why Shapiro deciding their one take is good enough disappoints her._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hi :D
> 
> here's the second chapter a week later, as promised! i wanted to focus on her friendships with el and fab more in this chapter but i couldn't find a way to fit it in, so i'm adding some scenes of our fav trio in the third chapter, as well as more parts focusing on other relationships. for now, the main focus of this fic is benvi and their development, so. 
> 
> this chapter features acting, repressed feelings, some tiny elpax hints, a fake wedding, frying eggs, a cute baby, and more! very cute, fluffy stuff to get you prepared for the angst that is coming next chapter ;) (although this is relatively a angstless story)
> 
> i know realistically, scenes are rarely ever done in one take, but as much as i strive to always incorporate realism, this is a fanfic at the end of the day so take it with a grain of salt.
> 
> as always, my only editor is myself (and now my editor self is sleep-deprived AND stressed over her papers and various due assignments piling up on her desk) so if you see any grammatical mistakes that make you go, "...huh?", i'm sorry lol :(
> 
> anyways, i won't hold you back any longer. go read! enjoy <3 (i'm aiming to get the final chapter out in a week, but it depends on how much time i'll have. hopefully it won't take any longer than ten days :D)
> 
> *just a short list to clear any confusion (in character - actor format)  
> sasha - eleanor  
> xavier - paxton  
> reagan - devi  
> chris - ben
> 
> (chapter title from all my friends by snakehips, tinashe)

_FADE INTO:_

_I **NT. NBC OFFICE - DAY.**_

_Production has just begun today, and DEVI’s abuzz with excitement. Currently, they’re seated around the huge conference table, waiting for the actors to pour in. CLOSE UP on BEN, who’s leg is bouncing up and down, the point of his elbows against the table, eyes fluttering shut and then open every five seconds._

_He’s nervous._

_**DEVI** **  
** Dude, what’s wrong? Are you sick?_

_**BEN** **  
** No, it’s just... today’s the table read for the pilot, right? The episode I wrote. People have high expectations for the first episode. _

_DEVI observes how nervous he is, and starts to feel a little grateful that she didn’t get to write the pilot. It is a ton of pressure. She steals a glance at BEN, worried he’s about to have a panic attack, and so she places a hand on his shoulder, trying to calm him down. (** We're friends now either way**) _

_**DEVI** **  
** Chill, alright? You did good. The pilot is good._

_Just then, a man walks through the door, wearing a white T-shirt and brown jeans. The first thing she notices is that— fuck it. This guy is the handsomest man DEVI has ever seen in her entire life. His jaw seems to be able to slice glass, his build is stocky yet lean, his biceps flex as he takes a seat, and holyfuckheisfuckinggorgeous—_

“Hey, stop drooling,” Ben whispers, nudging her shoulder and knocking her out of a trance. “It’s disgusting.”

“Can you blame a girl?” she asks rhetorically, sighing, while smiling at the new guy. 

“Are you— are you seriously thirsting over Xavier’s actor?” He lifts a finger, pointing at the guy, and then looks up to meet Devi’s gaze. She makes the mistake of looking him in the eye as he squints, leans forward, _lures_ her in. 

“He’s hot,” she says, but her heart seems to be racing at how close her face is with Ben’s instead.

“I’ve seen hotter,” he counters, before pulling back and smiling at the actor, who’s deaf to their conversation. 

Taking a deep breath, she reaches over and snatches Ben’s water bottle, purposely avoiding his steady gaze, but it’s not as if she has to see his face to know the look scrawled across his features at the moment. 

The first gulp eases a burning sensation in her throat, makes it easier for her to gather her thoughts and string them together into something mildly cohesive. “It’s a shame I get married to you and not him,” she mumbles, and hears Ben scoff. 

She squints at the name-card in front of the actor, trying to make do with her blurry vision. _Paxton Hall-Yoshida._

“Paxton, that’s his name.”

Ben groans. 

Five minutes later, a girl with wavy bob-length hair saunters in, wearing a very colorful dress, so bright that Devi crinkles her eyes, in pain. 

“Hello, everybody!” she exclaims, very enthusiastically, and it’s a complete contrast to how dead the room is. 

“Hi,” Ben speaks to fill in the silence, voice thinning a bit. He turns to look at Devi, eyebrows lifted a little and lips poised to move, mouthing, _she’s really pretty, isn’t she?_

Devi doesn’t know why it takes her so long to respond— the answer is yes, she is pretty, ~~but she doesn’t want Ben thinking another girl is super pretty.~~

“Yeah,” she responds, soft and tentative. 

The rest of the cast comes in ten minutes after nine hits, and the room fills with chatter, as they settle down. The table read goes well— the actors for Xavier and Sasha are undeniably talented, and have great chemistry, bringing the banter-filled conversations Ben wrote to life. 

Devi notices how he’s added in a part where the two try to guess how they were like when young and in school, and it bears some striking resemblance to their first overnight conversation in the writing studio. She doesn't bother questioning it, though she’s tempted. 

Every actor does well— with the exception of the two writers. Ben and Devi read their lines a tad bit robotically, and it’s not really their fault. Saying _I love you’s_ and having deep, romantic conversations is something they stiffen at reading almost immediately. 

Once it's over, the cast breaks out into groups, chatting while sipping some coffee and donuts. Devi goes to talk to Paxton first, obviously. 

“Hey,” she greets, and Paxton immediately smiles. 

“Hey! Devi, right?”

“Yep,” she beams. “You did really well today!”

Paxton takes another bite from his donut, before saying, “Thank you, although I think Eleanor did way better. It’s really all because of the amazing writing, though.”

Her smile twitches at his compliments for Eleanor and Ben. She arches her eyebrows in response, her insides lurching, for _some_ reason. It’s a weird mix of pride, and confusion. “Yeah,” is all she can choke out, and her eyes flicker down to the ground as she takes a sip from her coffee. 

She scrunches her nose almost immediately at how strong it is. At the same time, Paxton drinks the coffee in his hand, and sighs in content. “Ah, not too sweet, not too bland.”

She almost chokes, in bewilderment. She knows she likes her coffee with a bit more sugar than an average human prefers, but this is _terrible._ “Uh, if you’ll excuse me, I’ll be right back,” she says, before trailing to the coffee station at the other side of the room. 

To her surprise, Ben is already there, adding plentiful spoons of sugar to his drink. 

“Planning to get diabetes before you hit thirty?” she asks, her tone more serious than she actually is.

Devi smiles a little when Ben makes the weirdest noise, something akin to a gasp softened by laughter. He sets the spoon down, grabbing a mixing stick and carefully watching as the brown liquid turns a little lighter. 

“I'm not a fan of unsweetened coffee. Don’t think I’ve reached that age yet,” he responds. 

Now it’s her turn to add seven spoons of sugar to her drink. “Agreed. You have to hate your life _real_ hard to enjoy bitter coffee. I’m not there yet either,” she says, while plunging the same spoon into her coffee. 

“David,” he immediately groans, in discontent. “Everybody was using that spoon for adding sugar, why’d you make it all dirty now?”

She shrugs, still mixing with the spoon. “What else was I supposed to use?”

“The mixing stick,” he answers, very matter-of-factly, gesturing to the cup of sticks that rests beside the bowl of sugar, and she heaves a sigh in surrender. 

“Oops. I got lazy.”

“You are a _complete_ child,” he exasperates, but there’s a hint of a smile on his lips. 

“Says the man-child standing next to me.”

“Guys,” Shapiro speaks out of nowhere, placing himself right between them, and the two habitually frown in response. “What was that at the table read?”

“What? We read the script for our characters, like you wanted us to,” comes Ben’s voice, a bit too quiet amongst the chatter of the writing room. 

“No, I mean,” he stops talking to secretly, yet not-so-secretly, grab another donut. “You read their lines like you were being held by gunshot.”

None of the three talk for a while, as Shapiro silently munches on his donut, wrinkles creasing in every time he moans at how good it is, while the other two keep their eyes glued to the floor. 

“Okay, here’s my advice,” he begins after an awkward, accidental _mukbang_ of some sort. “You guys have to pretend like you _are_ your characters!” Shapiro points at Devi. “When you’re on camera, you’re Reagan, not Devi!” Then, he drags his finger, in the air, and skids to a stop at Ben. “When you’re on camera, you’re Chris, not Benjamin!”

The two refuse to reply. Shapiro groans at a lack of response.

“I’m not asking you guys to fall in love in real life but _at least_ act convincingly on camera I mean your chemistry has so much potential and you guys seemed more in love _before_ we started the table read in the writer's room than when you were reading your lines just now and honestly since the next two weeks will just be us filming your scenes before we kill you off can you two at least _please_ not let me down please please please you’re my _homies_ right please please please—” Shapiro pauses his endless rambling, to take in a shuddering breath. 

“O…kay.” Ben answers, squinting in confusion. Two blinks, then he’s loosening the tension in his shoulders, cracking his neck as he inches closer to where Devi’s standing. _Just say yes so he’ll stop talking,_ he mouths, eyes wide and pleading. 

“Sure thing. We won’t let you down,” she affirms, the sentence directed to Shapiro, but she’s still looking at Ben, who sighs in relief ever so slightly. 

Once Shapiro leaves with a weird giggle, Ben sets down his coffee, face crinkling in disgust. “I think—” He sighs, shaking his head. “—I think I’ve reached that point in my life for bitter coffee.”

She clicks her tongue, and although it should be a sad statement, that he’s starting to hate living a repulsive amount, a soft chuckle still escapes her mouth. “Same here, Gross.”

* * *

She fumbles in her black dress, posing in the mirror. 

“You look great!” Rebecca, the head of fashion exclaims, blonde hair flowing behind as she turns around to face Devi. 

Rebecca is hands down one of the coolest people she’s ever met in her life. She’s also Paxton’s sister, which is awesome, but it isn’t the reason Devi likes the girl so much. She adores her because Rebecca is creative, bold, talented, and really, _really_ nice. 

She’s also become Devi’s sole support system, as she freaks out over romancing Ben Gross on camera. 

“Isn’t this a little too much for a date night?” she questions, running her hands over the black lace. “This could pass as lingerie.”

Rebecca breaks into light laughter. Feet away, Devi cocks her head and coughs out, not amused. The blonde gulps down hard, smile faltering. “You’re overreacting,” she replies, while waving the measuring tape all around the length of the other's body. “This looks great. Pair it with knee high boots, dangling earrings, and a simple half-up half-down hairstyle, and you’re set for your date!”

“ _Fake_ date,” she corrects. 

“Yeah, yeah. Listen, you’re just nervous because it’s the first scene you two are filming. Just relax. The most you have to do tonight is act like a couple—”

“Which is the problem,” Devi buts in, while putting on boots. 

“Look, you two aren’t even the main focus for this scene, remember? This scene is supposed to establish how Xavier and Sasha hate each other. If anything, Eleanor and Pax have more work to do.”

“Five minutes till we set the scene!” someone— or Ben— yells from behind the dressing room's door, and Devi pauses, tilts her head in a manner that can only be dramatic. 

“Don’t rush me!” she shouts back, and the man sighs. 

“Five minutes,” he repeats, before the sound of his footsteps trail away. 

When Devi steps out in her black dress, she doesn’t expect Ben to be gaping at her. 

But yet, that’s what he’s doing. 

Gaping at her.

After looking her up and down, he sets his jaw, gulping nervously. “I feel severely under-dressed,” he mutters under his breath, voice breaking when he lets out a cough. 

He isn’t though— isn’t under-dressed, that is— because the long sleeve white button-up he’s wearing fits him perfectly, the fabric stretching over his biceps when he lifts his arm to rub the back of his neck, and it’s then Devi realizes that the dude really is _jacked._

Ben then laughs, trying to ease the thick tension. “These pants are a little tight,” he says, and her eyes flicker down the lower length of his body, observing the way the black fabric sticks to his thighs—

“Uh. Yeah,” she mumbles in response, after a heartbeat, before joining Ben on his walk to where filming is taking place. 

They’re filming at a real restaurant, so there are some people, but less than the usual. She feels her cheeks burn up when she spots the two cameras, placed in different angles, one to focus on them and the other to focus on Paxton and Eleanor. 

Ben pulls her chair out, gesturing for her to sit, and she rolls her eyes to play off the blush seeping through her skin while taking a seat. It’s when he’s finally sitting next to her that she feels the full force of what they’re doing. 

The two chairs across the table are empty, reserved for Paxton and Eleanor, and so she keeps her eyes glued on them, rather than the boy beside her. 

“Did you memorize everything?” Devi asks, in an attempt to make small talk. 

Ben snorts. “Are you forgetting that I wrote it?”

“Oh yeah,” she utters, her voice crackling as she clears her throat. _It’s getting really hot in here,_ she thinks, _maybe from the heat of the lighting._

In a short while, Eleanor and Paxton arrive, and they’re thrown into acting their lines, way too suddenly. Once Shapiro yells _action_ , the four stare at each other, silently. 

_Devi,_ Eleanor mouths, and then she remembers. Remembers that she has the starting line. 

She breathes in. Breathes out. Rearranges her expression. Repeats to herself, again and again, inside her head, that she’s Reagan now, that she’s Reagan now, that she’s Reagan now.

_**REAGAN** _

_Guys, I’m so glad you two could make it!_

Eleanor smiles softly, before morphing into her character. It's impressive, how she almost has a switch that turns on and off. 

_**SASHA** _

_(fakes a smile)_

_Anything for you, Reagan. Although I’m not sure why Xavier’s here._

Devi hears Ben let out a shaky breath. 

_**CHRIS** _

_Well, Xavier is my best friend, and you’re Reagan’s. We figured we could tell you both the big news at the same time. Convenient, right?_

Devi stifles a laugh at how Ben’s adding on random blurbs of words, but it sort of fits the character he’s playing. Paxton’s eyebrows furrow, as he glares at Eleanor— in character, of course.

_**XAVIER** _

_Come on, bro. You’re well aware we don’t get along._

_**SASHA** _

_Because he’s an ass—_

_**XAVIER** _

_And you’re not?_

_**SASHA** _

_You are insufferable—_

_**REAGAN** _

_Guys!_

Everyone goes silent, and Devi wonders whether this is what her arguments with Ben sound like from an outsider’s perspective, whether they're just as annoying and headache inducing.

_**REAGAN** _

_Can you two please not fight, for one night? This is some really big news._

Ben edges her hand towards hers ever so slightly, until she feels his fingertips brush her hand. She’s well aware it’s a stage direction in the script, that their characters are supposed to hold hands while breaking the news to their friends, but she doesn't know why her heart skips a beat when her fingers unfurl, letting his slip around hers. 

The heat of his palm presses against her own, and he meets her eyes with his, grinning ear to ear. 

_**CHRIS** _

_We’re getting married._

His smile falters, just for a while, as Eleanor and Paxton gasp in a mix of happiness and shock (like they’re supposed to). His eyes never leave hers, until the director calls cut. 

“Okay, great job, from the top!” Shapiro calls out, and Devi groans, slipping her hand out of Ben's hold. 

As they wait for the cameramen to get into starting position, Devi leans the weight of her head against her hand, while Ben stares at their empty plates. 

“That wasn’t so bad,” she says, and he nods. 

“It wasn’t.”

“I honestly might steal this black dress… Rebecca is a fashion genius.”

Ben chokes out a laugh. “Honestly, red looks better on you.”

She peers at him with an undeniable grin on her face, not knowing whether to be flattered or offended. “Insulting your date? How mean of you.”

“Who said it was an insult?”

At this, she stills, her breath hitching, before she shoves him lightly. “I think you look better with a blue wig, polka dot colored clothes, and a red ball on your nose.”

He widens his eyes, before chuckling, and his laugh makes warmth bloom in her chest. He twists his torso a little, facing Devi a bit more, and then he’s pinching her cheek devilishly. 

“So you’re saying I’m clown material,” he asks for clarification, and she shrugs, yanking his hand away from her while giggling. 

“Cut!”

They whip their heads to face Oliver, the cameraman, pointing the lens directly at them. 

“What do you mean, _cut?_ ” Devi prods, habitually clenching her fists. 

“Well,” Oliver gulps. “Shapiro told me to start filming you two, since we needed a scene of Reagan and Chris talking with one another before the main characters walk in.”

“But we weren’t in _character,_ ” she argues. 

“That’s alright, we don’t need to hear your conversation. They’ll probably just mute it. All we needed was the visual aspect of it.”

“So you’re saying… that we seemed like a couple just now?” she asks, eyes scanning around the room to find Shapiro. Weirdly, he’s not in sight. 

Of course that sucker ran away before he could face her wrath.

“Kind of? Your body language was… ugh, does it matter? You’re scaring me!” Oliver exclaims, backing away with the camera in his hand. Devi feels her anger bubbling up even further, but then Ben grabs her arm, and shakes his head, disapprovingly. 

It’s not a big deal… but it kind of is. Because if filming them while off screen was good enough to fit their characters, who are romantically involved, then what does that say about the nature of their relationship?

(The lines between on-screen and off-screen start to blend together, and her head starts to spin—)

“Hey,” Ben whispers. “Are you okay? It’s fine. Not a big deal.”

She shakes her hands, kind of like she’s hoping to shake off the lethargy and tension in her limbs, before coldly replying, “Whatever.”

She don't know why her heart twinges when a flash of hurt passes his face. 

* * *

_FADE INTO:_

_**INT. DEVI’S APARTMENT - NIGHT.** _

_Wide shot of the two overworked, exhausted writers, hunched over a heated pan on the stove. A smooth, white-yellow-grey-beige-but-mainly-white egg lies in DEVI’s hand, waiting to be split open. BEN watches intently, his eyebrows arched and his neck craned in a position that cannot possibly be healthy for the spine._

_Why are they at DEVI’s apartment, together? Good question. According to Shapiro, their boss ~~and now self proclaimed life-coach~~ , they should ‘try and increase their domesticity comfort’, to help them with the scenes they’re going to film tomorrow. Really, those scenes only consist of watching TV shows curled up on the couch, a cheesy, washing-the-dishes-while-your-partner-sneaks-up-behind-you scene, and a kiss scene (** Rather not think about that right now **) but here they are, attempting to cook an egg sandwich for the first time. Nevermind the fact that it's time for dinner, and egg sandwiches are more of a dish for breakfast, but they’re bored. (** Note to self: watching too much of Buzzfeed’s Tasty series doesn’t help counter hunger, it only makes it worse **)_

_DEVI breathes out, before tapping the egg against the edge of the pan, once, and then twice, before a small crack is formed. With shaky hands, she hovers it above the center with both hands, and slowly pulls it open._

_The yellow liquid stuff (** Yolk? Or something **) falls onto the oiled pan, but little white pieces from the shell join it. BEN immediately heaves a disappointed sigh, while nudging her over to the side, carefully picking the shell pieces out with a teaspoon._

_**BEN** _

_You lied._

_**DEVI** _

_(bites her bottom lip)_

_I didn’t exactly fib._

_BEN drops the soiled teaspoon in the sink. It’s silent for a while, save for the crackling of the egg yolk._

_**BEN** _

_You claimed to know how to crack an egg._

_**DEVI** _

_I’m usually better at it._

_He returns to the stove, arm brushing against hers as they wait for it to turn brown._

_**BEN** _

_Okay, when I say so, I want you to flip it over. You know how to do that, right?_

_**DEVI** _

_Yep._

_A minute passes._

_**DEVI** _

_Now?_

_**BEN** _

_(shakes his head)_

_Nope._

_Two minutes pass._

_**DEVI** _

_Now?_

_**BEN** _

_No._

_**DEVI** _

_What about now—_

_BEN shoots her a glare, which effectively shuts her up. A few seconds pass._

_**BEN** _

_Now._

_DEVI stumbles, a little taken aback, as she sloppily shoves the spatula underneath the egg, flipping it over, but it lands on the edge of the pan. Thanks to BEN’s quick thinking (** It pains me to even compliment him **), he manages to push it back onto the pan._

_**DEVI** _

_Sorry!_

“It’s alright,” he murmurs. There’s a crack in his tone somewhere, cheeks twitching at the same time that his lips tug up into his signature, dorky smile. Devi finds herself mirroring his expression, despite not consciously making that decision. 

“Look at us... we don’t even know how to fry an egg,” she comments, and Ben narrows his eyes at her. 

“Speak for yourself. I know how to fry an egg, and cook a lot of other things.”

“Why is that? Didn’t you grow up with a housekeeper?”

Ben quiets, his only response a deep, shaky breath, before saying, “I stuck around with Patty a lot as a child, so… I’ve seen her cook some stuff. I’m no chef though.”

She watches as he slides the egg onto the pile of fried eggs— more like failed attempts— the look in his eyes darkening at the topic of his home-life. Devi acutely notices, because she’s caffeinated, not flushed with alcohol, and she takes that as her cue to change the topic. 

“These eggs probably taste like ass,” she says, turning the stove off. “This is why I don’t cook.”

The frown on Ben’s face eases into a small knowing smile, as he places the salvageable fried eggs in between slices of bread. “You should learn,” he replies. 

“Because I’m a woman?” she questions, scoffing. Ben hands her a plate, and she takes it from him reluctantly. 

“No,” he answers, busy making his own sandwich now. “Because you live alone.”

Devi shrugs, before hesitantly bringing their creation to her mouth, lightly biting on it. The egg tastes… alright, as she munches on it, pressing the tip of her tongue on the roof of her mouth to get more out of the flavor. 

“Not to pat my own back, but this is actually decent.”

Ben leans his back against the kitchen counter, and she’s surprised that he’s only taken one bite. “I gave you the one I made,” he says, and she immediately deflates. Damn him— would it have hurt to let her believe that she’s genuinely a decent cook?

“And you…”

“I’m eating the one you just made,” he replies, taking another bite, and twisting his mouth to the side as he stifles a gag. 

She grabs the nearest towel, and hurls it at him, watching as it hits him smack dab on the face. He just blinks, a little used to her crazy unpredictable behavior, setting the sandwich down calmly, and before she knows it, he’s throwing the apron he has around him... at her. 

All hell breaks loose from there. She takes advantage of it being _her_ kitchen, and opens a specific cabinet, pulling out the container of flour she’d filled in day before yesterday. 

He widens his eyes almost immediately, smile falling flat. “David, no. Don’t waste your flour!”

“I don’t cook anyways,” she replies, smirking devilishly while yanking the lid off and throwing it all the way to the living room for dramatic effect. 

He folds his hands together, and pleads, “Devi, please. Devi—”

The flour goes slipping out of nowhere, and in an attempt to catch it, she ends up accidentally hitting it upwards like a volleyball serve. One blink after, her vision is obscured by the white powder. 

Her first reaction is to yelp, and then blindly search for Ben’s T-shirt, gripping it tightly once her hands find it. Keeping one hand on him, she rubs her eyes with the other, shaking her head violently, until she can finally pry them open. 

She meets Ben’s gaze, who seems to be equally covered in flour as much as herself, and he juts out his lower lip a little. It makes Devi’s chest feel heavy and incredibly tight, and she’s worried she’s crossed the line, that she’s snapped his last nerve.

But then, he laughs. 

Ben laughs so boisterously, so loudly, so innocently. His eyes crinkle up into little half moons, his nose bunches up, his white, flashing teeth peek out beneath his soft, tender pink lips. And although he’s covered in flour, cocaine looking white powder, he looks so _happy,_ and the sounds escaping his mouth are so jovial that Devi can’t help but giggle with him.

They spend seconds, just gripping onto each other, guffawing with one another, as white specks of flour fill the air around them. 

Eventually, the laughter comes to a halt, and her eyes flicker down to a sliver of his bare hip that’s visible, his shirt riding up, and she immediately lets go of where the fabric was scrunched in her fists, looking back up at his face. 

There’s a different type of tension now, much more subdued, indirect. But it’s there. _It’s fucking there._

Ben looks down at her lips for a split-second. Devi’s breath hitches. 

“Uh,” she speaks, and he blinks, immediately stepping back. “Who’s gonna clean this up?”

She’s worried he’s not going to respond, but then he scoffs. Of course he’s going to respond. She can always count on him to quip something back, even if she's pissed him off to no end. 

“You, of course.” Ben says, a smirk on his lips as he stares, expectant of something.

She presses her lips thinly together. The stretch at the corners of her mouth stings, feels a bit strained, but what can she do when she can very well make out what he’s indirectly pushing her to say?

“Can you help me,” she deadpans, more than questions, and he grins sheepishly.

“What’s the magic word?” he sing-songs, and she’s never wanted to knock him out more than now.

“ _Please,_ ” she grumbles, shoulders hunching into a slump, and Ben snorts. Devi waivers for a while, afraid of rejection, but then he saunters over to the bathroom, rummaging through it and eventually pulling out a mop. 

“David! What do you say we Mr. Clean this _shebang?_ ” 

* * *

“Can you stop moving?”

“Do you want me to stop breathing, dumbass?”

“I’m just saying! We have to keep still so that the scenes don’t look choppy.”

Devi sprawls her legs on the couch, peering up at Ben from where she’s laying on his criss-crossed legs. His thighs are warm and kind of comfortable, though she’ll never admit this out loud, without the aid of alcohol that is.

“Sorry, I’m just…” she finds herself unable to finish the sentence. _Nervous? Jittery?_

She knew this would happen eventually. That they’ll have to kiss and cuddle on the couch in a tangle of limbs, her face buried in his chest and his nose buried in the tuft of her thick locks— all on camera. It’s not like she hasn’t acted as a romantic interest before, but something about doing this with Ben is… _different._ Surreal. 

“Look, the faster we do this kiss without messing up, the less takes we’ll have to do. So stop giggling every time I come near your face,” he mutters, arm draped over the couch. She wonders if blood has stopped circulating to his limbs, especially since he hasn’t moved since Shapiro called _cut_ ten minutes ago, adamant on making the scenes _‘flow together seamlessly’._ He’s probably only worried this much because it’s his own episode, but then again, he’s always been one for perfectionism. 

“Wait, so, you’re going to lean forward? And place a peck on my lips while my head’s resting on your lap?” she asks, ~~busy admiring the way he still looks good from this angle below.~~

“Yes,” he grumbles in reply. 

At this, Devi can’t help but smirk. “You’re so cheesy, _god._ The only reason we have to do shit like this is because you wrote it in.”

“I wouldn’t have if I'd known _we_ were going to be playing these characters! Plus, they’re supposed to be a happy, young couple. Healthy relationships look like this, do they not?”

“You’re asking the wrong person,” she says, words tumbling out without preamble. 

His frown disappears, as his gaze becomes foggy. “I wouldn’t know either, so, you’re not alone.”

She just now becomes aware of his fingers inadvertently sifting through the strands of her hair, combing and playing with them. “Do you wanna talk about it?”

“Sure, why not. High school, freshman year, me, rich, but a loner, girl named Shira Stein, popular, nothing in common, got used, well, we used each other, boom,” he speaks in broken words, heaving a sigh, but Devi somehow still understands. “Cue the worst relationship of my life.”

“How long?”

He snorts, but not in amusement. It’s more cold, more dry. “Till graduation.”

“Have you dated any other girls? Or, people?” she asks, a little shocked at how her mouth is churning out words bravely. 

“Yeah, _duh._ But they've all lasted a short while. To be fair, none of them were serious. Now, I’m looking to take things slow, to build a good enough connection with someone before jumping into a relationship.”

“I get that,” she replies, because she does. She’s always believed that people reach a certain age when they’d rather see things unfold in the slowest— not Indian soap opera type of dragging— but just in the most gradual way possible, instead of watching a time lapse of the whole thing because that makes them dizzy. It makes one feel sick, like they’re playing _catch up,_ makes them question why they’re going so fast. 

Her and Ben are twenty-five now. Safe to assume they’re both at that age.

“No you don’t,” he retorts, scoffing. His hands are still tangled in her hair. “You tried to pursue Paxton the minute he entered the room.”

Her eyebrows furrow almost immediately. “He’s hot, but that doesn’t mean I want to date him. Plus, I think he genuinely likes Eleanor.”

“Woah, what, hold on… what?” He bugs his eyes out, mouth slightly agape.

“Have you seen the way he looks at her off-camera?”

“It could just be method acting.”

“Method acting? Really? That stuff’s for playing emotionally taxing scenes convincingly. No actor method-acts falling in love. That’s just them really falling in love.”

Devi heart clenches at her _own_ words, for an unbeknownst reason. She feels her throat go tight and dry, lock up a little, and she takes a deep, shaky breath. Ben notices the minuscule change in her mood, like always, and he coughs awkwardly. 

“There’s an interesting study on it, actually. About whether actors are more likely to fall in love with their co-workers more than people working regular nine to five jobs. And _that_ is why I stick to writing,” he states, jokingly, but his tone cracks in the slightest bit.

“Whatever,” she replies, shuddering, before thudding her head back onto his thighs. “Let’s just get this kiss scene over with.”

Shapiro yells action about three minutes later, and Devi tells herself to let loose, to see Ben as Chris and not himself. 

The TV show in front of them plays on mute, the light coming from the screen limning his face, as he smiles softly. _Lovingly._ There’s a gleam in his eyes, and it makes her own smile falter. 

Then, he’s leaning in, and this time, she doesn’t laugh or push him away. She lets him hover his mouth over hers, and before she knows it, they’re kissing. 

Devi responds with surprising enthusiasm, and she can feel him stiffen at being taken aback, but he quickly regains his composure just as fast as he lost it, thumb caressing her cheek. 

She has to remind herself constantly of what’s happening. That he’s kissing her, _really_ kissing her, she’s _really_ kissing him. She lets herself forget— forget about all the cameras around them, about what angle they should kiss and whether she’s looking good on camera. The rest of the world is rendered meaningless, because right now, it’s just her and _Ben._

_Ben_ tastes like mint and toothpaste, but he also slightly tastes like cinnamon. She doesn't let her mind wander to why his lips have the flavor they do, because there’s no time for focusing on such miniscule details. _Ben_ fits into her like a glove, his kiss like a red, blazing fire, yet gentle tricking rain all at once. 

Ben, Ben, Ben.

_Oh._

_Oh shit._

She pulls away, and her eyes flutter open to meet his. When she looks up at him, she doesn’t see Chris— she just sees Ben. 

Ben Gross. 

It sends her into a course of panic, because _why,_ why in the world is her heart beating so fast if the whole time when they were kissing, she was thinking of Ben’s name and not his character’s?

That realization makes her worry, makes her tremor a little— method acting, _simply_ acting and _not_ acting blurring together. 

He’s looking down at her with such an inviting warmth that for a second, she wonders if she wants to kiss him again. But then, Shapiro yells _cut,_ and with the slamming of the clapperboard, normalcy returns. 

“Good job,” she speaks, springing upwards and distancing herself from Ben on the couch. 

“You too,” he responds, his voice hoarse. 

She doesn’t know why Shapiro deciding their one take is good enough disappoints her.

* * *

She’s getting married. 

Well, not literally. But mentally, it’s the same level of exhausting. 

They’re filming outdoor, on-location, in Malibu near an ocean view, the area facing a breathtaking sunset. At the end of each seating aisle, vanilla scented candles hang from naked tree branches. There are multiple cast members and extras on either side of the aisle, sitting on white chairs set up for them on the grass and sand mix.

“El,” she mutters, while they’re waiting for their cue to walk in. “This is insane.”

“What’s insane?”

“This... this whole thing. It all feels so _real._ ”

Eleanor titters airily, before tossing her wavy hair behind her shoulder. From the one week she’s known her since production began, Devi’s learnt that being dramatic and doing exaggerated motions runs in the girl's blood. “Don’t worry. Once you reach the end of the aisle, Shapiro yells cut, and you’re forced to do the same thing again and again to get different angles and shots, it’ll remind you that it’s fake.”

She pulls the top of her strapless white dress up, while Rebecca fixes her veil. “I’m glad it only took one fitting to get the measurements right. You look great,” she says, eyes scanning over Devi, guaranteeing that there isn’t a single flaw with her outfit. 

“Thanks,” she replies. The very intricately braided bun on her head is starting to feel heavy, and tug at her scalp. “Jonah does my hair justice, every single time. I wish he could become my hairstylist off camera too.”

Eleanor smiles, script in her hand as she reads over her lines, highlighted in yellow. “Did you memorize your wedding vows?”

Devi makes a _pff_ sound, eyebrows furrowing. “No, why would I do that?”

The more professional actress narrows her eyes. “Uh, they’re the only lines you had to memorize for this scene.”

“Nah. I’m all for improvising. Plus, Ben probably wrote in some cheesy shit, I don’t know. I wasn’t entirely paying attention when we were doing table readings for the pilot," she says, completely lying through her teeth. The truth is, she's well aware of what Ben's written, but it's too much for her to handle.

“So? What’s wrong with cheesy shit?”

“I’m not about to say some shit like, _before I met you, my life was devoid of color. You’ve made me a better person, with the promise of love—”_

“That’s what wedding vows are supposed to be like!” 

"Nope. I'm gonna Frankenstein it, mix it up a bit, make it more interesting, add some depth to the character."

"That's the dumbest thing I've heard all day."

"I agree," Rebecca buts in.

Devi takes a deep, lung-filling breath. Lets it all out in a heavy exhalation, then arches her eyebrows a touch, trying to portray herself as way more confident than she’s actually feeling. "Whatever, I know what I'm doing. I'm a writer for fuck's sake!" 

"Yeah, but you're also a performer," Eleanor points out, in a stern tone.

Devi’s well aware she’s being very unprofessional right now, but she can’t help it. She’s acted in college plays and other side gigs with ease, but this time, it’s different. Maybe it’s because of the added pressure of this show being broadcasted on a fairly popular network channel? Who is she kidding, it isn’t that. 

It’s a certain boy.

"Don't worry. I got this. For now, all I have to worry about is the walking part," she affirms, plastering a fake grin as she scans the area. "Where's my fake dad?"

Eleanor flashes her a wry smile. "Last minute change. Your dad's dead."

She gapes. "What?"

"Yep, there's an added scene where you and Ben— well, Chris— talk about it, he comforts you, etcetra." She explains, a bit too calm for Devi’s liking, and she feels a shudder wrap around her neck before slithering up. Eleanor immediately understands.

"That's why I'm here, girl! To walk you down the aisle!"

Devi blinks, feeling extremely stupid. It all makes sense. _Sasha_ is here to walk her best friend down the aisle in replacement for her dad. It’s a heartwarming thought, heartwarming scene, but suddenly everything is getting a little too similar to her real life and—

Eleanor clutches Devi’s arm, eyeing her suspiciously. “Listen. I’ve only known you for a while, but I assume we’re good friends already. I know you got this, okay? You got this.”

Just then, a knock on the door startles them apart, signaling their cue. Devi gulps, gulps down hard, before nodding feverishly. Eleanor leaves early, to get in position, and eventually it’s just her and Rebecca. 

“You got this,” the blonde reassures, shooting her two thumbs up, and she can’t help but snort. 

They get their final shots of the cute little flower girl, before Devi’s called. She steadies herself, before stepping onto the grass, finally becoming visible to everyone. 

She only takes two steps out before she’s greeted by Eleanor, who escorts her down the flowered, makeshift aisle, and suddenly the walk seems longer than before. The ‘guests’ look at her, their gazes burning holes into her skin, taking pretend pictures, phones pointed up with flash on. 

Up ahead, she spots him. Ben. Her fake future husband, her real life coworker, friend. He stands taller, shoulders back, dressed in a fancy tuxedo. It fits him extremely well. 

When her eyes meet his, a pink tint grazes his cheeks, and _wow,_ he must be really good at acting, because the way he’s looking at her right now with emotion feels so _real._

No one makes a sound. Not even Shapiro, which makes her want to bang her head against a wall. It’s a weird feeling of betrayal, because she wants him to break the silence with a stage direction, to remind herself that this isn’t real. 

Once she reaches the end of the aisle, Eleanor hugs her, eyes welling up with convincing tears, while handing her off to Ben. Before Eleanor walks away, she pats Ben on the shoulder. Paxton stands behind him, as ring bearer, and shoots her a grin, to which she glares at. Shapiro finally yells an astounding loud, “Cut!”, and orders them to return to their positions. 

As Devi’s walking back, she sees her dramatic director wiping fake tears from his cheeks, and resists the urge to roll her eyes. The next five times she’s walking down the aisle, it feels more comedic than genuinely emotional, and it gets repetitive, as they take a wide shot, then a close up of her, then a close up of Ben, then Eleanor, then Paxton. 

The only thing that keeps her standing upright in these godforsaken heels is Ben, who makes faces when he’s not in frame to try and make her crack up. It gives her something to do, something to focus on. 

Then comes the hard part. 

She stands in front of Ben, her hands in his, writhing under the uncomfortable stares of everyone sitting on their chairs, including the stage crew. There’s one camera in her sight, one camera in his. She wonders if they can possibly get it all in one take. 

“Dearly beloved,” the fake priest begins. “We are gathered here this evening to witness this man and woman join together in holy matrimony.” He follows with a bunch of things that frankly, she doesn’t bother listening to, tuning it out as if he’s her college professor. 

He repeats it a second time, for another take, and Devi struggles to keep the same happy expression, her hands starting to get a little clammy— or is it Ben’s sweat? She’s not sure.

“Now, I believe you prepared your own vows?” he finishes, and Devi takes that as her cue to start. 

She ponders on beginning the way it is on the script, with an _I take you to be my lawfully_ blah blah blah, but then, something in her head clicks. With Ben changing her character, having Reagan’s best friend walk her down the aisle in replacement of her father, giving her a backstory… she thinks that maybe improvisation _is_ the way to go. She catches on to what he’s doing, adding depth to their characters, and their love story, so that no matter how short their screen time is, at least they’re loved by the audience before they get killed off, so that the viewers can feel just as sad as Sasha and Xavier when they learn of it.

“From the day I first met you, I thought you were annoying. A conceited, egotistical asshat,” she says, and Ben immediately widens his eyes at the very harsh line change. _What are you doing,_ he mouths, and she smiles, squeezing his hands in reassurance— and in a way to tell him to shut up and just follow along.

“But it was only because I saw you as my equal. That you were just as good as me, which is saying a lot, because I definitely have a really big ego about my own skills.”

Everyone lets out small, genuine chortles, including Ben.

“And eventually, I just found myself spending time with you, no matter how much I told myself I hated you. I didn’t, didn’t hate you at all. Learning more about you, about your interests, about your aspirations, about your personality, about your heart of gold that’s underneath all that hunker—” she pauses, breath hitching as she braces herself to continue. “—it all made my heart race, and before I knew it, I was in love. In love with you, uh, that is.”

A crimson blush rides up Ben’s neck, as the corners of mouth tug up into a small smile. 

“I love you because you are smart and funny and kind, even when you try to hide it. I vow to listen to you and learn from you. I vow to value our differences just as much as out common ground. I vow to not abuse the dishwasher just because I grew up unable to use one,” she jokes, and at this, he snorts. “And, I know I’ve never believed in forever, but I mean it when I say that I think our love is eternal. I’m so lucky you’re mine... just as much as you’re lucky to call me yours.”

On that amusing note, she ends her vows, and everyone claps, but all she can focus on is the boy standing in front of her. He whispers, so faintly that she barely catches it, “How do I live up to that?”, and she finds herself chuckling softly at his words.

“De— Reagan…” he stammers, and a shiver goes down her spine. “When I first met you, I thought you were insufferable, short-tempered. But in an extremely endearing way. I found myself paying attention to every little thing you did, because I was so interested by you. It took me an embarrassing amount of time to realize that I was interested _in_ you and not just by, but… here we are. After countless dinners and getting approval from your strict— but cool as hell— mother, I’m finally getting married to the love of my life.”

_Love of his life?_ It’s extreme, and she really shouldn’t be, but Devi finds herself beaming, weirdly.

“I love you because you are adventurous and strong and unapologetically yourself. I love you because you love your family and friends just as fiercely as I love mine. I also love that your family has become mine, the relatives I’ve always wanted. You are my best friend, and although we started off against each other, I’m glad we’ve become a team. An unstoppable one.” His eyes twinkle, blue and bright. 

She waits for him to continue. When he doesn’t, she mouths the word _vows_ , before he nods in realization. 

“Uh— I vow to give you the best of myself. I vow to honor and care for you. I vow to not get mad at you when you can’t crack an egg properly,” he continues, referring to their whole kitchen dilemma, and she rolls her eyes, a genuine response. “I promise to tell you I love you every single day for the rest of our lives, which by my calculations should be around 36,500 more consecutive days, that is, if we live to be 130 year old seniors—” 

“Be— Chris,” she says, interrupting him. For a second, she almost said his real name. “You’re rambling.”

He laughs sheepishly, before sighing. “Anyways, yeah. I love you, Reagan.”

The sound of her fake name brings her back to reality, and suddenly, she’s reminded of the camera all up in her face. 

Paxton walks up to them, rings in his hand, and the ring exchange process goes smoother than expected, as their fingers clumsily bump into each other's, the cold silver providing cooling to her heated skin and _woah,_ is that real diamond?

“If anyone objects to the marriage, speak now or forever hold your peace.”

The room is laughably silent.

“With the power vested in me, I now pronounce you husband and wife.”

Everyone bursts into applause, as the orange sky illuminates the scene. Technically speaking, it’s a beautiful shot and she knows it. Personally speaking, it’s a beautiful scene. So beautiful ~~that she’s kinda sorta wishing it was real.~~

They wait, and the priest purposely forgets to say the rest. Paxton reminds him, following the script, and the man makes an _ah_ sound, before saying, “You may now kiss the bride.”

Ben closes his eyes as he dives in to steal her lips, innocence and gentleness laced in the way they move against each other. No tongue, no groping, no gasping, no moaning, none of that. But— it feels much more intimate, much more sensuous than any tongue ridden, spit sharing kiss she’s had with drunken men in bars.

He pulls away, but his arms remain around her waist, as if he's afraid she’ll leave and this will all turn out to be a dream. She keeps her hands on his collarbone area, as they slide down to his chest. 

Shapiro yells cut, but she doesn’t really heed much to it. Everyone around them starts clapping, while the cameramen pack up, which pretty much lets her know that their one take was good enough. 

“I’m sorry,” is the first thing she says, as they’re brought apart, stepping off the podium and onto the grass. 

She’s scared he’s going to yell at her for scrapping the lines he worked hard to write, but then he scoffs. “For what? That was probably the smartest creative decision you've ever made, in your _entire_ life. Changing the vows added more character to them. Made it less boring.”

Then, she quiets, suddenly reminded of what Eleanor informed her about. “Why did you make a change last minute? About Reagan’s father…”

His forehead crinkles. “Oh, I… I just thought we should make them more real. You know? So that the audience would get to know them better. Relate to them more. That's why we’re also filming that extra scene. But, I’m sorry if I’ve just made things harder for you, I mean, I already know you’re not enjoying filming but—”

“No,” she blurts out, stopping him mid-sentence. “I wanted to thank you. I feel seen.”

He breathes in deeply, eyes gleaming. “Well, I’m— I’m glad.”

She loops her arm around his, as they walk down the aisle the other way, set members frantically trying to stack all the chairs and pack up before the sun sets. 

“I wonder if my wedding will be just like this,” she says, sighing. 

Ben cranes his neck, looking Devi head on. “Huh? You’re telling me you’ll have a _white_ wedding?”

She immediately frowns, huffing. A slight sting of pain shoots up her right leg, from walking in heels pretty much all day. “Well, unless I marry an Indian, duh, I’ll have a white wedding.”

“Why?” he questions, genuinely seeming a little miffed. 

“Because,” she begins in a matter-of-factly tone. “Indian weddings have a lot of traditions that go before it, it’s colorful, very loud, very all in your face. I doubt a non-Indian guy would like all that stuff. My first serious boyfriend— well, ex— didn’t want it, that’s for sure. He said Indian weddings seem _'exhausting'_.”

Her relationship with Marcus, from her Lit class in Princeton, was a little, well… _terrible_. It’s not like he was a monster, because he wasn’t, but he was also very selfish. Even more selfish than her, which she thinks says a lot.

“Well, I think he’s a fucking idiot.” Ben sneers, and the downward pull at the corner of Devi’s lips quirk up into a tiny smile.

“Ben—”

“No, really, I do,” he says, while his arm slips out of hers. She thinks he’s about to walk away, to his trailer, but then he turns, looks over his shoulder to regard her with an honest gaze. 

“I personally think Indian weddings are beautiful.”

With that, he’s off, and leaves her dumbly standing there, as she bites the inside of her cheek to try and calm down her racing heartbeat, and _fuck,_ why is she feeling these things inside her stomach, travelling up to her chest?

This is quickly starting to become a disaster.

* * *

_She feels him rest his weight against the bathroom door she’s leaning on, while sobbing into her knees._

**_CHRIS_ **

_Reagan… open the door, please._

_She cries, memories of her father rushing into her mind all at once._

**_REAGAN_ **

_Leave me alone._

**_CHRIS_ **

_I’m going to wait for you to open the door. I’m not going to leave. Take your time._

_His voice is steadying, honey-like, calm. It brings her peace._

“Cut!”

Devi breathes in, shakily, tears still pouring out as Oliver offers her a tissue. “Good job,” he says, and from the opposite side of the door, she can hear rustling and creaking of the wooden floor. 

Then, Ben opens the door, and looks down at the tear-stricken girl on the floor. “Are you alright?” he asks, concern laced in his gaze, and she nods. 

“Yeah,” she assures, handing Oliver back the now wet tissue. He scrunches his nose before hurling it into the nearest trash can. 

Ben drops down to his knees, getting in position for the next scene. “Are you ready? We can take a longer break if you want—”

“Okay, guys!” Shapiro’s voice booms out from where he's watching, comfortably seated in his director’s chair. “Let’s get this going.”

The clapperboard strikes, signaling the start of a scene. Devi gets back into character, and all it takes is reminiscing the last argument she had with her Dad to start sobbing again. 

_**CHRIS** _

_Hey, hey..._

Ben shuffles closer, draping an arm around her recoiled stature, as he buries his face into her hair. She hiccup-cries, wetting the front of his shirt, and a part of her worries about whether that was too ugly of a sound to be broadcasted, but Shapiro doesn’t say anything.

**_REAGAN_ **

_I miss him._

**_CHRIS_ **

_I know you do, honey._

Something about him referring to her as _honey_ sends a shiver down her spine. 

**_REAGAN_ **

_Why is it so hard for me to move on?_

He rubs her back soothingly. 

**_CHRIS_ **

_There’s no time limit for grieving. It’s a roller-coaster…_

There's a vibration every time Ben talks. He inhales, and she feels his chest expand underneath her hand. 

**_REAGAN_ **

_I’m scared to lose anyone else in my life._

**_CHRIS_ **

_I can’t promise that you won’t, but I can promise you that you will never, ever be alone. Okay?_

She nods, and her crying halts, an emptiness residing instead. It’s comforting, the words he’s saying, especially because they resonate with her own self. She misses her father, so _fucking_ much— there isn’t a day that goes by without thinking about him. Sometimes, she feels guilty, wrong for moving on, other times she feels pathetic for crying over his absence. 

_**CHRIS** _

_You’re not alone. He’s watching you from above, and I know he’s so, so proud of you, okay? So proud._

It’s just lines that he’s reciting, she knows, but they’re lines that he's written, lines that he clearly put time and thought into, and it all feels so real, so genuine. Like it could happen off camera too. 

_**REAGAN** _

_Thank you._

For what? She doesn’t know. Maybe for talking to her, keeping her company during voluntary night shifts, for becoming a friend, for purposely changing her character, for adding this scene in. Devi’s just as much thankful to Ben as Reagan is to Chris.

She tucks her head into the crook of his shoulder, as he stretches his legs out onto the floor, leaning against the door. 

“Cut!” Shapiro yells, and then he smiles, earnestly. “Good job you two. Spectacular performance, especially from Devi.”

Devi knows the scene has ended, and that they should be standing up, brushing their knees off and going separate ways, but she finds her limbs unable to move. And Ben doesn’t say anything about it— he simply stays in the same position, eyes fluttering shut. His embrace feels comforting, it brings peace to her sanity after such a mentally exhausting scene. 

Her and Ben are like magnets— repel when facing the wrong way, attract when facing the right way. When they stop butting heads, her north pole aligned with his south… they stick together. It feels _right._

It just feels right.

* * *

_FADE INTO:_

_**INT. NBC FILMING STUDIO - DAY.** _

_Wide shot of DEVI and BEN standing awkwardly next to each other as they converse with a very cheery woman. She has light brown hair and milky skin, looking pretty young for her age, but her wrinkles and eyebags tell the tale of an array of sleepless nights, smelly diapers, and spilled food on the floor. (** And this is why I will never have a baby **)_

_She’s the mother of their daughter— well, fake daughter— who looks up at DEVI and BEN with big, doe-like eyes. She’s a few shades darker than her mother, with curly dark hair and big lips. DHVANI is her real name (** it means sound in Sanskrit, which is very fitting for her, since she wails like a tractor every five minutes **). _

**_BEN_ **

_She’s so cute!_

_He seems much more enthusiastic and giddy, lulled by all this baby voodoo, playing peekaboo and clapping DHVANI's tiny hands together, while DEVI just watches from behind._

**_MOTHER_ ** _(_ _** Again with the name replacements, start paying more attention for the love of god **)_

_Thank you… she gets it all from her dad, really._

**_DEVI_ **

_Speaking of the father, where is he?_

**_MOTHER_ **

_Oh, he’s at work. I only work on weekdays, so I could come. It's such a shame though, he was really looking forward to meeting you guys today! Especially you, Devi. He’s Tamil too!_

_DEVI immediately grins._

**_DEVI_ **

_That’s so cool!_

**_BEN_ **

_Wait, do you mind me asking… uh, are you Jewish?_

_DEVI looks at him incredulously, but then the woman nods._

**_MOTHER_ **

_Yes! Are you?_

**_BEN_ **

_Yeah!_

He turns to look at Devi, with wide eyes. “David, this baby is _literally_ a mix of us. Shapiro wasn't kidding when he said he had the perfect baby in mind.”

She grimaces. “I don’t know if I’m impressed or uncomfortable.”

The lady hands her baby to Ben, who takes the small human in his hands impressively easy. “I’ll just let you guys get comfortable with her while I eat some food. She might be a bit fussy, just a warning.”

Ben shoots her a thumbs up, waiting for her to leave, before turning to face Devi. 

(He looks cute with a baby in his arms—)

“Hello! I’m Mister Right-All-The-Time,” he exclaims in a fake, squeaky baby voice, before pointing at Devi. Dhvani’s eyes follow his finger, and suddenly, she's making eye contact with her. 

“And this is Missus Wrong-All-The-Time.”

Devi sneers, rolling her eyes. “Keep her away from me,” she orders, whispering so that the baby doesn’t hear it— although, she doubts a one year old can comprehend English, or any language for that matter. 

“Devi,” he seethes. “It’s a baby! Don’t be rude.”

“And I don’t like babies. They’re pretty much pigs. All they do is eat, sleep, poop—”

“And they _love_ you,” he finishes for her, but that’s definitely not what she was about to say. Devi gags, crossing her arms. 

“Listen, this whole thing is your fault. Who told you to write a one year time skip after the wedding and bring a baby into the mix?”

“Uh, Shapiro? It’s the main plot… this baby is the central part of the story, how do you forget this stuff?”

She scoffs. “Whatever— woah, what are you doing?”

He extends the baby out, practically placing it in her arms even though she’s unwilling. Devi holds the wiggling body reluctantly, her neck craned far away. 

“I’m going to kill you,” she whispers, venom laced in her voice, but then Dhvani looks at her, all puppy like, and all of a sudden her heart is melting and maybe babies aren’t so bad—

_Wah!_

The baby cries, wails as if she’s in extreme pain, trying to escape from Devi’s hold and reaching towards Ben. He immediately snorts, taking her back into his arms, laying her over his shoulder as he pats her back comfortingly. 

“Seems like the feeling of dislike is mutual,” he quips, connivingly smirking. 

She shifts her gaze to her side, watching the rest of their castmates eat lunch together, and then casts Ben a glance. “Why do you like babies so much anyways?”

Ben folds his lips, and he looks as if he’s chewing on the inside of his cheek too hard. “I guess,” his voice quivers a little, as he watches the little girl play with his open hand’s thumb. 

“I guess I just want to be something that my own father wasn’t,” he finishes, now firm and resolute.

Devi feels her chest ache. “Oh.”

“Yeah,” comes his voice right after. “Someday, when I become a father… I want to make sure I spend time with my child. I can’t promise them a big mansion and signed posters like my dad gave me, but, one thing I vow to do is _actually_ be a significant part of their life. I want to be a good father.”

The corners of her eyes crinkle, but a crack splits into her heart. Ben gives her a long, hard stare, then softly laughs without preamble, lips curling up. “I have years to worry about that, though.”

“Oh yeah?” she asks after a beat, grinning.

“Duh. I’m only twenty-five,” he says, before trailing over to where Eleanor and Paxton are standing. They immediately gasp happily at seeing the baby, and Devi rolls her eyes, heat flushing up her neck in embarrassment as she watches from afar. She doesn’t need validation from a fucking _baby—_ but, she’s kind of, just a little, maybe _sort of_ bummed at the rejection. 

Then, Ben turns, and he says something inaudible to Dhvani in her ear, pointing to Devi who's standing all the way across set. The baby turns to look at her, and surprisingly, she waves, clumsily of course, but the gesture is so cute that it makes her all fluttery inside. It makes her feel less left out.

He shifts his attention back to Dhvani, talking to her, playing with her, and she responds back enthusiastically, wrapping her arms around him. 

It’s something she’ll never admit out loud till the day she dies, but— she’s sure Ben will be an amazing father one day.

* * *

Filming has finally finished.

Well, not entirely, but solely for Devi and Ben, who recorded their last scene three days before. All they had to do was climb a bus, and then the rest is insinuated— bus crash, dead, orphaned baby who’s currently being babysitted by Eleanor and Paxton’s characters.

She’s lounging on her couch at seven in the evening when she gets a text from Fabiola, her former coworker, now friend— perhaps even one of her closest friends in NYC.

**Fabiola:** _Devi_

**Fabiola:** _Devi_

**Fabiola:** _Devi_

**Devi:** _WHAT_

**Fabiola:** _Today is Ben’s birthday_

She widens her eyes, and then groans.

**Devi:** _WTF_

**Devi:** _why didn’t that little rascal tell us_

**Fabiola:** _IDK but I found out from El_

**Fabiola:** _Apparently he's really sad and mopey alone at home and he's not answering texts or calls_

**Fabiola** : _S_ _he’s busy shooting with Pax and I have other commitments with my girlfriend so_

**Devi:** _..._

**Devi:** _what are you tryna say_

**Fabiola:** _... Can you please go and visit him_

**Fabiola:** _You know his address already_

**Devi:** _WHY_

**Devi:** _he probably already has friends over_

**Fabiola:** _Du_ _de, none of us have friends here, we’re all new to NYC_

**Fabiola:** _And be honest, do you think he has friends apart from us_

**Devi:** _ugh ur right_

**Fabiola:** _So are you going?_

**Devi:** _No way_ │

She pauses, and then spams the backspace button.

**Devi:** _No wa_ │

**Devi:** _No_ │

**Devi:**

**Devi:** _Fine_

Too broke to afford a car, she’s forced to take Transit like usual, brushing against random people’s shoulders and yelling at selfish teens hogging the priority seats reserved for those in need.

Two pit-stops at a nearby bakery for a muffin and a candle after, she reaches Ben’s apartment. It’s another awkward wait in the elevator with a middle aged man, who she exchanges an awkward glance with. 

She takes the muffin out of the wrapping, and sticks the candle into it. 

It’s missing something. 

She peers over her shoulder to look at the only other person with her in this elevator, and spots a lighter in his hand, box of cigarettes in the other. Usually, she doesn’t condone others smoking, but this time, it’s come in handy.

“Can I borrow your lighter?”

He looks her over, once, and then twice, squinting his eyes at the questionable muffin/cake concoction in her hand, before giving it to her. 

Once she’s in front of Ben's door, breathing shallow, muffin hidden behind her back, and candle ablaze, she presses the doorbell. 

Ben opens the door, eyes a little swollen and bloodshot, before frowning. 

“Go _away._ ”

Devi sticks her foot between the door and the frame even before he can duck back into his house. She’s not about to let him chase her away now, especially when she’s hauled her ass all the way to his residence. 

“That’s rude. Uh, can you—” She tries to wiggle her foot around, but to no avail— it’s trapped where she lodged it. Definitely her fault for the brilliant idea, she admits, but Ben sadly isn’t budging, instead pulling the door much closer to his chest, and a sharp sting shoots up her foot. “Come on, just let me give you this—”

“No,” Ben answers, firm and resolute. The expression on his face looks nothing like a _‘no’,_ though— with his lower lip jutted out, eyebrows pinched, shoulders slumped and teary eyes, he looks more like a little kid who just got told Santa isn’t real. “I'm not going to let you come inside.”

“Gross, what’s wrong?” she asks out of concern, a little worried he's having his mid-life crisis way too early.

He pouts, and makes a weird strangled noise. “Did you just call me _gross?_ ”

She blinks in confusion. “Uh—”

“I know I’m gross, thanks for the confirmation.”

“What? No— I meant _Gross,_ like your last name.”

_Oh,_ he mouths, pout turning into a more pronounced frown. “David, just—” 

“I swear to god if you tell me to leave—”

“—just leave, please. It’s for your own good,” he continues, voice a little quiet now, lips quivering. 

“You’re an idiot. It’s your birthday, dude! Why are you being such a little bitch?”

“You know it's my birthday,” he gasps, blowing at an eyelash on his cheek, scrunching his nose in the process. His blue eyes bore into hers, and then he sulks. “Still. Goodbye.”

“I’m confused—”

“I said bye, David.”

“What is going on—”

“Move. Get your foot out of there so I can shut the door properly. _Come on,_ Devi. Help me out a little—” Ben gives her foot a nudge. She shrugs. It had the potential to be a nasty kick if he just put more effort into it, but weakening resolves and sad feelings don’t make for a good killer combo when attempting to drive someone away. “Move your foot—”

“No.” Devi strains her leg a bit more and pushes her foot between the narrow gap until she can feel wood squishing her ankles. This is a terrible idea, a ridiculous one, but what can she do now? He won’t swing the door open yet, but won’t shut it tightly either. They’re at a fork and have to make a decision. 

“Why are you even here?” Ben isn’t pressing against her foot anymore, isn’t making an effort to narrow the opening, but he’s not letting her inside either. 

She heaves a sigh, before bringing her hands in front of her, revealing the muffin in her hands, and his eyes go wide. 

“Happy birthday to you,” she begins, singing in tune. She’s started at a scale too high for her range, but, she has to make do with it now. “Happy birthday to you. Happy birthday dear Benjamin…”

“Don’t call me by my full name please,” he mutters under his breath, then tips his head back a little. 

She rolls her eyes, before continuing. “Happy birthday to you.”

Devi stares at him hopefully, with arched eyebrows and a sheepish smile. When Ben steps to his side, she takes one step forward and takes a few seconds to observe that tiny, unreadable crinkle at the corners of his eyes, the shy twist of his mouth. “I’m only letting you in because of the muffin. Don’t get any ideas.”

“Of course,” she hums in reply, before slipping inside. She can hear his even breathing right by her ear, feel the warmth of his skin, as he shuts the door behind them. 

She doesn't let her eyes wander around at how nice his place looks, and how it’s way more spacious than her own apartment— instead rushing over the the kitchen island and placing the muffin onto the marble counter.

“Come,” she beckons, motioning for him to come near. 

“What are you doing?” he asks, after she moves him roughly by the shoulders, to stand right in front of the muffin. Then, she walks back around, pulling out her phone and opening her Camera app. 

“Taking a video. You have to blow the candle, silly,” she whispers, studying his expression from the view on her phone. A glimmer twinkles in his eyes as he smiles, before bending down, shutting his eyes closed. 

“Ooh, what is Gross going to wish for?” 

He laughs at her commentary, before blowing, and then opens his eyes. Devi claps, and makes a _woo_ noise, to which he pumps his fists in the air at. 

She doesn’t know where this unknown urge comes from, but she runs next to him, switching the camera to selfie mode and throwing an arm around his shoulders. “Happy twenty-sixth birthday, oldie!”

Their faces are extremely close, cheeks touching as she tries to get them in one frame, before she stops recording. "That is going on my story, so it becomes known to everyone that it's your birthday."

“Thanks, David. For coming here, that is. And bringing me a muffin with a candle on it,” he says, as she pulls away. 

“It’s no problem. Sorry I couldn’t get you a cake… it was a short notice and all, since you didn’t even let us know today was your birthday.”

His gaze darkens, as he takes a bite from the baked goodie. “I didn’t think it was important. I mean, no one cared about it as much as me when growing up, so… I started to believe it didn’t matter.”

She immediately scoffs. “Well, those are some terrible friends you had. Birthdays are worth celebrating!”

“Eh.”

Devi leans against the counter, stealing a piece from his muffin with her fingers— it’s bought from her own pocket money, in her defense. “Why were you trying to chase me away?”

He chokes on his food. “Uh,” he begins, voice constrained and face red. “I was kind of… busy… crying?”

“While watching _The Notebook?_ ” she teases, pointing to the movie playing mute on his television screen, and his skin turns a tomato shade. She doesn’t press on it too much though, instead asking, “What were you crying about?”

“Uh… well. I was kind of waiting. For a call. From my parents. Or a text. Either or.”

She sighs, immediately catching on, deciding to shift the topic. “Hey. Why don’t we watch a movie together?”

He lights up, suppressing a grin, eyes following Devi as she saunters over to the couch. “Really?”

“Sure, why not.”

In matter of seconds, he’s plopped down next to her, ready to hit the unmute button, but Devi snatches the remote control from his hands. “We are _not_ watching _The Notebook._ Instead, we're going to watch _Jurassic Park_ and point out every scientific inaccuracy.”

“What? Why?” he groans.

“I’m not basic like you, Gross!” Devi sing-songs. The crack in her voice kind of ruins it though, makes her sound like a boy going through puberty for the nth time, but the thought soon disappears when Ben arches his eyebrows, a dusting of pink blooming on the tip of his ears as he smiles— the classic Ben Gross smile that always makes her stomach churn, ~~in a good way.~~

“Also,” she continues, shyly shifting closer to him. “You’re like, the only other person I know who’ll actually understand what I’m saying when I start rambling about genomes and bio-containment.”

“True,” he whispers, snorting as he buries his face in Devi’s hair, hand draped over her shoulder. Her heart beats, beats even faster now that they’re starting to do this stuff off camera, and she can’t help but enjoy the moment as it is.

Besides, friends hug. Right?

Everything about him brings her a sort of comfort, a sense of home. Whether it was their midnight conversations while writing, or spontaneous bar meetups, or curled up beside each other in their apartments, it all helps her forget the fact that she’s in a new city, away from her family— he brings home _to_ her. 

And so, like a fragile flower opening to the warmth of spring, she doesn’t say anything to ruin the moment, and just embraces it instead. 

* * *

Devi may prefer Sherman Oaks over NYC, but if there’s one thing this place does better than her home city… it’s the alcohol. 

Sitting at the bar, stranded by Fabiola, Eleanor, and Paxton, who are on the dancing floor doing _G_ _od knows what,_ she sips from her wine peacefully. 

Except she isn’t completely stranded, because Ben stays behind, with her. 

“I know I’m gonna have to go back on set when they start filming the finale, cause it's the episode I wrote, but… I kinda like just lounging around at home.”

Ben shrugs. “I feel ya. Those rigorous weeks of writing and acting have completely burned me out.”

“I just wish I looked better on camera. I mean, makeup did wonders to cover my eye bags, but they were still kind of… there.”

“Post-production will take care of that.”

“But Eleanor looks so much prettier on camera. And don’t even get me started on the girl playing Rachel.”

“Hey,” he begins in an assuring tone, while stealing a sip from her cup. “You looked fine. Plus, what about me? My eye bags were twice as worse than yours from all that staying up.”

“But you’re a dude!” she exclaims, her hands out in their own exclamation. “That rugged sort of _'I haven’t slept in five days'_ look suits you better.”

He’s looking at her in a specific way only she can identify, the why-are-we-talking-about-this-please-make-it-stop look, but there’s something else there too. Amusement? Fascination? “Look, the main cast is just as tired filming. You won’t be the only one with eyebags onscreen.”

“Yes, please mention our gorgeous stars who’ll still look hot despite anything they do. It’s just _different,_ ” she says, finishing her drink, and tries unsuccessfully to get the bartender’s attention. “I want to be perceived as hot, alright? It’s vain but it's the fucking truth.”

He smiles slightly, his eyebrow pointed, eyes half-lidded from probably being just a bit drunk. It’s then she notices he’s unbuttoned the first two buttons of his white shirt, and her mouth goes dry. “I don’t think you have a problem being perceived as hot,” he mutters.

Her skin immediately feels weird, stinging, flushed yet cool. She stares at her empty glass, thinking of what to say. “Oh, please,” she begins, after a beat. “I know your type. You date girls with brownish blonde hair, who ran cross-country and are named Brittany— two T’s.”

Ben looks at her incredulously, before choking out a tiny laugh. “I don’t even get what you mean, really.”

“Just— what I’m saying is, don’t pretend to be something you’re not. Like, don’t lie.”

He furrows his eyebrows, while motioning for the bartender to refill his glass— and hers too. “I don’t think I’m _trying_ to be anything.”

“Okay.” She looks down at her hands, a weird blush crawling up her neck at her inability to comeback with anything better than just a lame, _'okay'._

The bartender returns quickly, and she drinks up her third glass of the night swiftly, sipping politely at first, but in the blink of an eye, it’s all gone. And then, she grows increasingly aware of the fact that Ben is watching her, through the corner of his eye, as he gulps down his drink.

After an awkward few minutes of silence, Ben finally clears his throat, shattering it. “I lied,” he says. “I know exactly what you meant. Brittany— two T’s. But that’s not my type. Honestly, I don’t have a type. I like women. Beautiful, intelligent, funny women.”

Devi chews on that for the rest of the night, after they’ve said goodbye, after she’s dropped off by Fabiola, after she’s in the comfort of her own apartment, after she munches on some Cheetos, after she brushes her teeth.

She lays in bed, and thinks.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> heyheyhey fellow reader! <3 if u enjoyed reading this, it would mean the world if you could leave a kudos, or a comment (i always reply!)


	3. all i wanna be is somebody to you

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _“It’s exhausting watching El and Pax dance around each other all the time,” she says, resorting to shifting every particle of attention off of her by changing the topic._
> 
> _His smile drops, and all of a sudden he’s serious again. “Must be real tiring,” he murmurs, tentatively bringing a hand up to her cheek. “Having to dance around someone.”_
> 
> _Devi’s breath hitches, as his thumb flicks across the side of her face, and then stops at the right corner of her lips. “I wouldn’t know.”_
> 
> _“I can’t even dance,” he says, as if it actually matters. She can’t help it— a snort slips through, and somehow makes this whole thing multitudes easier._
> 
> _She looks up at Ben— his expression lost and so weirdly loving, that it invigorates her. Those eyes stare at her intensely, they do not move, and neither do hers._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> .... hello.
> 
> okay, i know this chapter is basically weeks late, but i've been really busy with work and classes that i could barely find the time to write and edit 12k+ words. that being said... i'm procrastinating my calc work just to type this so... i think i'm just really bad at setting my priorties straight LMFAO. writing benvi makes me incredibly happy, and i love this community so it's worth it <3
> 
> anyways, i had originally jotted in a lot more scenes with rebecca, paxton, oliver, el, and fab, but i didn't have enough time, and i didn't want to leave you guys hanging for so long. although you do get some nalini scenes instead! :D
> 
> i'm kind of sad to see this fic end (who am i kidding, i'm rly sad) but i do have another oneshot idea coming up so... stay tuned? for whenever that will come out lol.
> 
> fun fact: the fruit cup part was actually inspired by the actors irl! maitreyi mentioned how jaren used to buy her fruit cups whenever she refused to eat, and i thought... why not include it here? 
> 
> hm, can't think of anything else i have to say... so, enjoy reading <3 i'd like to thank everyone who supported this fic, showed it sm love. im forever grateful <33
> 
> (chapter title from 'somebody to you' by the vamps)

Devi is tired. 

There isn’t any better adjective for it— a lack of enthusiasm, heavy eyebags, grumpy retorts— she’s just, plain and simple, _tired._

Production usually takes two weeks. Since her episode is the finale, she assumed that things would go a lot smoother, due to increased comfort and experience.

She was wrong. 

Actually, _everyone_ is tired— there’s no subtlety or hiding of it either, because without the aid of makeup, the cast members all look like sexy zombies.

Devi just looks half-dead— no sexy attached to it, which she’s admittedly bummed about. 

She’s sitting in the chair next to Shapiro, aiding Eleanor and Paxton with getting the intended _mood_ of the scene right, when someone appears and chaos ensues. 

“Ben!”

He sheepishly smiles as Eleanor tackles him in a hug, Paxton awkwardly following behind. Devi just stares. 

“Hey, how’s it going?”

Devi doesn’t know what happens to her body lately, everytime she hears his voice, sees him in person. She’s been catching herself get these mini _heart attacks_ or something just before getting lost in her thoughts— or maybe she’s simply exaggerating, and they aren’t exactly _heart attacks._ They feel more like her heart trying to _leap_ out of her chest. 

And so when she feels tightness in her sternum, she takes it as a warning to face away from him, to keep her eyes glued to the script in her hand. 

He doesn’t let her escape him, though. 

“David, long time no see,” comes his voice above her. He’s right, they haven’t seen each other in person since he whispered about not _having_ _a type_ in that bar two weeks ago.

(How could she forget... she drowned in her thoughts that night—)

In that brief second she looks to her side to search for something, _anything_ that can reel her back to reality and out of her thoughts, her gaze betrays her, deciding to snap up and directly find Ben. “What brings you here?” she asks, voice embarrassingly shaky.

“I thought I’d stop by, see how my least favorite scriptwriter is doing,” he answers, with a playful smirk. Hearing that he’s here to see _her_ makes her feel giddy, like a kindergartner with a silly little school crush— except she doesn’t have a crush on Ben. Nope. But he sounds so nonchalant and unbothered, in complete contrast to her jumpiness, that it makes her feel like something is terribly wrong with her. 

“I’m doing horrible, thanks for asking.”

He brings a thumb towards her face, gently sliding it right underneath her left eye. “Are you getting enough sleep?”

She shudders, discreetly. “Uh, not really. Too many never-ending ten hour shifts.”

Ben’s eyes glimmer with concern, as his hand drops back to its rightful position at his side. “The big finale, huh?”

Devi lets out a dry laugh, before saying, “Yeah.”

With Shapiro gone, he takes a seat in the director’s chair, jacket making crinkling noises. 

“You’re still wearing your jacket?” she asks, a little amused. 

“What? It’s cold.”

“It’s April, Ben.” 

“And? Temperature is subjective.”

“You did not just say that.”

“What? I can find a certain temperature cold that you don’t. See? Subjective.”

Devi snorts, and then heaves a morose sigh. She’s missed endlessly bickering with him about the stupidest things. “This is so tiring. I honestly don’t know how you could handle acting and sitting in the writer’s chair for the pilot.”

“I powered through it,” he says, voice thinning into a scoff. Then, he raises his eyebrows, as if he’s had some sort of epiphany. He pulls out a fruit cup from his pocket, and shoves it towards her. “This is for you.”

Her gaze switches from the plastic container to Ben, almost quizzically. “What?”

“I know you don’t eat when you’re overwhelmed with work, so… this was the perfect balance of healthy and processed food that I could find,” he explains, digging out a plastic spoon from the same pocket.

She takes it from him, a dusting of pink blooming across her cheeks, as she smiles. “Thank you,” she begins, barely above a whisper. 

“I think we’ve passed the courtesy phrases at this point. It’s been months, there’s no need for 'thank you's and 'sorry's.”

“I think 'fuck you's have always been more of our thing,” she mutters jokingly, and there’s a weird, gratifying feeling that courses through her veins when he laughs. 

“Are you still writing that script in your head?”

She stills, mulling it over. “Yeah, but not as often. I’m too busy nowadays.”

Then, he leans to the side, over the armrests of his chair, nudging her shoulder gently. “Am I still the villain?” he probes. 

Her heart clenches. Devi bites down hard on her tongue to shake off her nerves, but all she ever gets is a nasty sting at the back of her teeth. She lets out a laugh, dry and low. 

“No.”

He leans back into his seat, rolling his shoulders while grinning, ever so slightly. “Then what am I to you now?”

It’s a serious question, a bit more serious than he probably intended it to come off as, but she shrivels up anyways, unable to answer it. 

Shapiro returns to retrieve his spot from Ben before she can even muster up a half-assed reply.

* * *

_FADE INTO:_

_**INT. BRONX MUSEUM OF THE ARTS - NIGHT.** **  
** _

_Our main protagonist stands in front of a painting, eyes squinted and head tilted, as she tries to figure out what’s in front of her. BEN is planted right beside, with arms crossed and a know-it-all smile._

**_DEVI_ **

_What the hell is this supposed to be?_

**_BEN_ **

_It’s clearly meant to represent nature. I mean, the green dots are in the shapes of leaves, there’s a blue bird over there—_

**_DEVI_ **

_Blue bird?_

**_BEN_ **

_Well, yeah, if you squint and tilt your head ninety degrees, you’ll see it._

She groans, slapping her forehead. When she heard from Fabiola that visits to this museum were free, she hopped onto the idea immediately. She’s not exactly an art fanatic, but, a love for anything old helps one look good. Sophisticated, even. 

It’s unfortunate— or fortunate, if she’s being honest— that Ben was the only one willing to go with her. So far, he’s been sputtering out a bunch of stuff, pretending like he understands the story behind every stroke the painter made— Devi’s sure he’s just spewing bullshit to seem impressive, but it only makes him look more pathetic, really. 

“You have no idea what you’re saying, be honest,” she says, and he shrugs.

“I do, in fact.”

She rolls her eyes in response. “You’re a pretentious, fatuous fraud. You don’t even like art!”

“How are you so sure about that? I like art, okay? I’m not very big on learning about the history behind it, but I do know my fair share of painters, like Eugene Delacroix—” He pauses mid-sentence after seeing Devi pull out her phone, aiming her back camera at the painting in front of them.

“Photos aren’t allowed,” he reminds her urgently, but it’s too late. She’s already made up her mind— stubbornly, as usual— and thanks to carelessly not checking, a bright flash goes off. 

“Fuck,” she mutters, spotting a security guard nearing them, and Ben groans. 

“Flash photography is prohibited,” the man mutters, seeming disgruntled. 

Absentmindedly, Devi wonders about what qualification one needs to become a security guard. A degree? Or just some training? And now, she’s curious—

Ben nudges her shoulder, shaking her out of her thoughts, and she clears her throat before answering with, “I was taking a selfie.”

With her blatant lie now floating in the air, she can almost feel Ben’s anger, even without needing verbal confirmation. The guard scoffs. “Are you lying?”

“She is,” comes Ben’s voice, the same time Devi exclaims, “I’m not!”, and the guard furrows his eyebrows, before heaving a sigh. 

“Just— just put the phone away please,” he orders, before walking away. 

“You’re an idiot,” Ben mutters once he’s out of ear-shot, glaring at her. 

“ _You’re_ an idiot! I mean, I know I’m better than you at everything, but you’re fucking terrible at lying!”

“What if he asked you to show the picture you took, huh? Then what were you going to do? Lying is not the way to go.”

Devi juts her bottom lip out, before growling. “You’re so…”

Her sentence remains unfinished and her anger melts away the minute he flashes her that classic Ben Gross smile. “You're not better than me at anything, really. Remember our bet? About who would finish their script’s draft first? Did you forget that I won that?”

“You did not,” she retorts, scoffing. “It was a tie.”

He makes an _eh_ sound, shrugging. “I finished a second earlier than you, but… fine.”

“You know what? Let’s make another bet,” she says, looking him dead in the eyes. If she wants to appear more challenging, she’ll have to be more confident. 

“I like the sound of that,” he mumbles. 

“Whoever’s episode gets the highest rating from critics and audience overall can ask the other to do something. Anything. And they _have_ to do it,” she explains, pointing her finger in his face.

“Pilot versus finale,” he mutters, mulling it over before he grabs the tip of her index finger, shaking it in the air. 

“It’s on.” Ben concludes, accepting her challenge with ease. 

It’s fucking _on._

* * *

_FADE INTO:_

**_INT. CHAZZ PALMINTERI ITALIAN RESTAURANT - NIGHT._**

_Wide shot of the three girls sitting at a nicely set table, munching on their ordered dinners. DEVI has never had Italian cuisine at a restaurant before, but the newness of it all excites her. While FABIOLA and ELEANOR ordered things like calamari siciliana, and osso bucco, DEVI cuts through her lasagna, an embarrassingly basic choice. (** Hey, points for self-awareness **)_

**_ELEANOR_ **

_Oh, this is so good._

**_FABIOLA_ **

_Trip Advisor wasn’t kidding when they said this place serves some good stuff._

_DEVI grins, grateful to be having girls night with such entertaining friends._

**_DEVI_ **

_I’m so happy to be here with such amazing women._

_(raises her glass)_

_Here’s to finding good friendship in a sketchy city!_

_The other two clink their glasses against hers carefully, giggling gleefully._

**_DEVI_ **

_(cocks an eyebrow quizzically)_

_So Fab… how’s everything with Eve?_

_FABIOLA smiles shyly, looking down at her plate._

**_FABIOLA_ **

_We’re still going strong._

_ELEANOR squeals and DEVI jolts up in shock from the loud volume._

**_FABIOLA_ **

_You know, she really saved me. When I first moved here five years ago, I felt so alone. So lost. I didn’t know who I was, what I was doing here, what I wanted to do with my life. But then I met her, and she…_

**_ELEANOR_ **

_Ah, true love. How romantic._

_DEVI’s expression sours._

**_DEVI_ **

_How cheesy. Cute, but cheesy._

**_FABIOLA_ **

_What about your love life, Devi? Or should I say, David?_

_DEVI narrows her eyes in confusion, observing her friends shooting her conniving smirks, before she realizes._

**_DEVI_ **

_Oh, shut up!_

**_ELEANOR_ **

_Shapiro was right. You guys look great together. In the words of Trent: dude, you two have mad chemistry. _

**_DEVI_ **

_Okay, we’re not gonna get together just because you guys want us to get together. We don’t like each other like that. _

**_FABIOLA_ **

_(scoffs)_

_Yeah right! Have you seen the way Ben looks at you? And the way he’s always secretly checking up on you? Making sure you’re alright?_

**_DEVI_ **

_What the hell are you two talking about?_

**_ELEANOR_ **

_Like that day he came to set. Yeah, he came for us but… the first one he searched for was you._

_DEVI unknowingly heats up, and her grip on the fork in her hand becomes tighter._

**_DEVI_ **

_It’s not like that—_

**_ELEANOR_ **

_You clearly like him too. Be honest.. have you never once thought about kissing him, off camera? Or fucking—_

Devi chokes on her lasagna, and then wheezes. God-fucking-damnit, she does _not_ want to do sexual connotated things with Ben Gross— not now, or in her next life, or in the one after that. Never mind the fact that the guy has nice, lean, sturdy legs, and surprisingly broad shoulders... or something, whatever— Eleanor is wrong. Devi knows what she wants, and what she wants isn’t that. 

But, maybe—

“You’re disgusting,” she says, when she manages to regain her breath, before sipping on water to ease the burning in her throat. 

Eleanor just smiles, unconvinced. “If I’m being honest, I think you like him. The way you look at him, the way you spend time with him, like, all the time even when you claim to hate his presence. For fuck’s sake, you went all the way to his house to make sure he wouldn’t be alone on his birthday. And you made him a weird muffin-cake thing too!”

“I did that because Fabiola told me to!”

“Did she tell you to bring the muffin though?”

“No,” Devi says through gritted teeth. “I was just trying to be a good friend. Shocking, right? I can be a good person too sometimes!”

“You two are such a mess, god,” Fabiola exasperates, while digging through her _osso bucco._ When Eleanor’s expression shifts to hurt, she adds on with, “I meant Devi and Ben. Not you, El.”

“Oh, really?” Devi jabs her fork into the lasagna piece way too hard, and a ear-splitting _screech_ comes from it. “Well then, Eleanor Wong. Why don’t we talk about the secret feelings you and Paxton are harboring for one another?”

Eleanor gasps, dramatically as always. “Now you’re just making stuff up!”

Devi huffs. If there’s one thing she’s exceptional at, it’s deflecting. It’s her favorite card to play, because it works all the time. 

(The only one who seems to defeat her deflecting is Ben—)

“Okay, I’m not making this up. Be honest. You like him!”

Eleanor looks at her with knitted eyebrows, before loosening up. “Okay, fine,” she admits in defeat, while pulling on the napkin laying on her thighs. “But it goes against my rule.”

“What rule?” Fabiola finally speaks, more focused on her food. 

“Dating a costar is a huge _no-no_. Cause, what if we have to shoot another season, but we’re broken up? It’ll be awkward.”

“Hold up, why can’t your rule apply to Ben and I?” Devi chimes in.

“Your characters are dead, girl. If there’s a next season, you two are working as writers,” Eleanor argues, glaring at her. “Anyways… back to what I was saying. It’ll be awkward. How would we get through it?”

“You power through it! It’s called professionalism,” Devi retorts, crossing her arms. 

“Whatever. There’s someone else anyways,” Eleanor says, and the other two immediately widen their eyes. “Oliver. You know, the cameraman? Yeah.”

“Oliver?” Devi drums her fingers against the table, lost in thought. It was kind of obvious, now that she looks back at it. The way he was always so willing to help her with setting her hair, or the way he’d compliment her looks on camera. “He’s a nice guy, but… if you like Paxton, then shouldn’t you go for him? I mean, he clearly likes you back.”

“If you like Ben, shouldn’t you go for him?” Eleanor counters, scarily quick.

Devi sucks in a deep, violent breath. “Hey, deflecting is my thing! And I told you: I. Don’t. Like. Him. Like. That!” 

The two stare at each other with furious expressions, before whipping around to face Fabiola. “Who's right?” Devi questions fiercely, at the same time Eleanor aggressively demands, “Tell her that I’m right!”

Fabiola just blinks. “I came here to eat,” she mutters, with a mouthful of food. “You two can deal with your love life problems on your own. I’m afraid I’m doing perfectly fine in that area.”

Devi’s about to curse like a sailor, about to let her mouth just ramble on and on— why she's getting so defensive over this is beyond her— until someone comes from behind. 

“Oliver!” Eleanor exclaims, faking a smile. “I asked him to pick me up. Well, this was fun. I'll see you all this weekend!” 

Devi stares, nodding her head towards Oliver in the form of a greeting, but her head is somewhere else.

Eleanor’s whisked away before either girls can even bid a proper goodbye, Devi left stunned. The only thing rolling in her mind is questions. Questions about things that make her uncomfortable. Things that have to do with a certain blue-eyed boy. Does the word ‘frenemies’ quite encapsulate the broad spectrum of the things she does with him? The things she thinks about him? Does it? 

“Should I order a mimosa—”

“Devi,” Fabiola sighs. “You’ll have plenty of time to get drunk at the party. Try staying sober for at least three weeks straight, please.”

* * *

Maybe Eleanor was right. 

Maybe Devi does want to… _do things_ with Ben Gross. 

Or maybe she’s just staggeringly drunk, and he’s showed up to the wrap-up party at Shapiro’s nice condo wearing the most tight, blue colored button-up shirt that brings out the color of his eyes, makes them _pop_.

It’s unfair, the way Eleanor’s words have started making her unnecessarily think about things that she was having a fun time _not_ noticing. Like, the way he trails over to where she’s sitting alone on a couch first, before meeting anyone else. Why is she always _first?_

Never mind the fact that the first thing he says to her is something about how she’s _finally wearing red,_ and that he was right about it _being a color that suits her better than black._ Before she’d take it at face-value, but now…

_Fuck._

Ben downs a shot glass of whiskey all at once, Adam’s Apple bobbing up and then down. Devi tries not to stare— instead, she focuses on swiftly finishing half of the Doritos bowl placed on the coffee table in front of them. It’s replacement for alcohol— she’s already consumed too much. 

“Something wrong?” 

She turns to cast a glance at him, but only for a brief moment. “No.”

“Something’s wrong,” he affirms, furrowing his eyebrows. A beat, then the tiny upward tug at the corners of his lips evens out into something more neutral, lips parting and jaw hanging slack. “Are you sad?”

Devi bites the inside of her cheek. The easy answer is ‘yes’— of course she’s sad. She’s spent the past six months working on this show, writing for it, acting for it. She’s met so many people and the staff is filled with people she _actually_ likes. 

Thinking about the possibility that their show might not get a season two, and that she won’t be working with them ever again— that she won’t be writing stupid scenes with Ben by her side at two AM in the night, that she won’t be asking Fabiola for help with descriptors, that she won’t be laughing at the way Eleanor practices her lines, that she won’t be talking to Rebecca about upping one's fashion game— it breaks her heart. 

She’s felt alone ever since she moved to New York City, a year ago. And now that she’s finally found people that make her feel at home… the thought of losing that is scary. Terrifying, even. 

“I have attachment issues,” she says, laughing dryly. 

“Hey, it’s not like everything will be over if we don’t get a season two. The relationships we make here are for forever.”

Devi finally turns to look him in the eyes. “Do you keep in touch with anyone from high school?”

Ben stills, thinning his lips into a straight line, before letting out a puff of air. “I barely had any friends, so… no.”

“Exactly. Life always goes on. People forget about people.”

Something gets lost in his gaze, as he covers her folded hands with his, gently. “I won’t let that happen,” he whispers. “I won’t forget about you guys.”

His words are shocking, new, and… weirdly honest. Devi’s so moved that she’s almost propelled to believe he’s right. 

“Are you drunk?” is the only thing she can utter in the midst of abashment, and Ben lets out a laugh. It reeks more of disappointment than amusement.

“A little.”

“You’re becoming more like me,” she jokes, tapping his nose with her index finger. 

“You’ve rubbed off on me quite a bit,” he says, then thins his lips into some weird cross between a smile and frown. “Don’t know if that’s a good thing.”

He doesn’t give her the chance to reply with some witty comeback, because he’s off immediately after, dusting his pants and trailing over to some hallway, muttering something about _this being harder than it used to be._

She’s partly glad that he’s left, because she can finally feel air rushing back into her lungs, the tension in her body seeping out. But she’s also fucking miserable— there’s a sort of giddiness that lingers when he talks to her nowadays, and that’s concerning, but it’s also… intriguing? 

It also doesn’t help that she can spot Eleanor wiggling her eyebrows from across the living room, smiling knowingly. 

Devi doesn’t like Ben. Like, she likes him, but she doesn’t want him that way. At all. No, well, he is attractive— if one was into blue eyed boys, with a nice build, average height, and a blinding smile— but that isn’t her type. Paxton’s her type. Or maybe not—

_Fuck it._

She doesn’t know what takes over her body— a bad mix of vodka, adrenaline, and estrogen rushing through her veins, she supposes— but before her brain can stop her, her legs are already moving, one foot in front of the other, as she struts to the hallway where Ben’s disappeared. 

She peers her head into the first room, eyes scanning for him, but finds someone else sitting on the bed instead.

“Devi?”

She gulps. “Paxton… hi.”

He cocks his head and arches one eyebrow, jaw sharpening with the pull of his skin. “Looking for something?”

If she’s being honest, months ago, this would have seemed like a good idea. Bagging a chance to have sex with someone that hot is a milestone she’d celebrate.

But now… she doesn’t really _want_ him that way at all. And maybe it’s also because she’s convinced that him and Eleanor belong together. 

“Eleanor likes you,” she blurts out, only partly by accident.

He crosses his legs, a hint of blush looming on his cheeks. “I thought she liked Oliver,” he mumbles, then he’s dropping his hands to his sides, stuffing them into his pockets. 

Devi straightens up, taking a step back into the hallway. “Oliver’s a nice guy, but she likes you more. And I don’t think it’s fair to him if he dates someone who’s interested in someone else anyways. So talk to her. But don’t do anything else until she breaks up with Oliver. Okay?”

“O...kay?” Paxton answers, a bit taken aback by her lecturing tone, but there’s a hint of a smile on his lips. 

“Okay. Have a goodnight, my guy,” she says, before turning around on her heels, walking down the hallway to the next room. 

(She likes to think of giving up a night with Paxton as a selfless act, but it really isn't, because the vessel of attraction she was once harboring for him has long disappeared thanks to someone else—)

Ben doesn’t seem to be in any of the rooms after that, and it only adds on to her desire of seeing him. Like oxygen being added to a burning fire, it grows and grows, waiting to eventually be dispelled. She _needs_ to see him, she just needs to— to do what, she’s unsure. But she needs to see him, because what if she never sees him again? What if that happens?

Eventually, she gives up, and finds herself drawn to the last bedroom in the hallway, the one which has a beautiful, mural-like painting all across the walls. It’s creative, and inspiring, expected from someone as colorful as Shapiro.

“I see you’re busy wallowing about how drab your apartment complex is compared to Shapiro’s condo,” comes a familiar voice in her ear, and her muscles automatically relax, yet tense up at the tone, paradoxically. 

She doesn’t bother turning around— she’s more scared to, really— and scoffs instead. “You have your entire life to be a jerk. Why not take a day off?”

“Remember when I asked for your opinion? Me neither,” Ben says, and then laughs a little. His breath, hot and pricking on the shell of Devi’s ear, tickles, but not for long, because she turns to face him before she can let a shiver run down her spine.

“You’re a dick,” she mumbles. Was breathing ever this difficult?

“I know.” He thins his lips into a tight, tight smile, before arching an eyebrow— which is now super fucking attractive to her for some reason?

Ben takes a step forward, and she takes a step back, eventually thudding against the wall. He doesn’t make any move though, just stares at her with some inadmissible and lustful gaze, as if she’s unattainable, even though she's right in arm's length. 

Studying his blue, blue eyes, the way his jaw curves, the way he’s smiling— she has never wanted to be one of those girls in his Porsche more than now. 

He understands her in some way no one ever has— makes her feel _seen._

“You’re looking at me in a funny way,” he speaks after a beat, furrowing his eyebrows. Squints as well, like he’s determined to literally see through her, however he plans to do that. “What’s that about?”

Devi blinks, and then huffs, letting out something between a cough and a gasp— less disgusting than it sounds. “I’m— huh— what— uh,” she mutters faster than she can rework the garbled sentences in her head. 

“I’m drunk,” she finishes, looking up at him with half-lidded eyes.

“Me too,” he murmurs in response. He doesn’t have that teasing look scrawled across his features anymore. Which is good, because a Ben that has lost his drive to prod is a less threatening Ben.

Unfortunately, it doesn’t mean he’s any less curious.

“It’s exhausting watching El and Pax dance around each other all the time,” she says, resorting to shifting every particle of attention off of her by changing the topic.

His smile drops, and all of a sudden he’s serious again. “Must be real tiring,” he murmurs, tentatively bringing a hand up to her cheek. “Having to dance around someone.”

Devi’s breath hitches, as his thumb flicks across the side of her face, and then stops at the right corner of her lips. “I wouldn’t know.”

“I can’t even dance,” he says, as if it actually matters. She can’t help it— a snort slips through, and somehow makes this whole thing multitudes easier. 

She looks up at Ben— his expression lost and so weirdly loving, that it invigorates her. Those eyes stare at her intensely, they do not move, and neither do hers. 

That asshole knows what he’s doing.

In the next second, she’s already closed the distance between them, her lips fitting perfectly against his, molded together, moving in surprisingly perfect synchronization. It’s nothing they haven't done before, but this one feels so much more _real._ So much more intimate. 

And then it starts to scare her. 

In an effort to chase these thoughts away, she tries to give her body something to do by blindly grasping for his collar, clumsily opening buttons, and hooking a leg over his waist. He moans into her mouth at her gesture, and the vibration reminds her that this is reality.

His left hand caresses her cheek, right hand gripping her waist. He’s kissing her as if he’s waited eons to do this, light years to touch her this way. His mouth, coupled with the way his hand is sliding down her arm is all so overwhelming— in a good way. 

Devi lets her hand slide down from his neck to his now bare chest, warm skin soft to the touch. It’s a constant reminder that this is a bad idea— that she’s kissing him and giving him mixed signals when, truth is, she doesn’t know what she wants. He isn’t some sort of guy she can sleep with one day and then stay friends with the next. 

But she needs this. Doesn't she?

“You’re drunk,” he whispers once he pulls away, lips slightly swollen. 

She ignores it, grabbing him by the collar and pulling him closer, but he resists. “You’re drunk,” he repeats, words coming out like a warning. 

“Yeah, so?”

“So—” He pauses, hands slipping away from her waist as her foot hits the floor. “—this isn’t a good idea. It’s not a conscious choice, from either of us.”

Devi feels anger bubble up— hot, red, fiery lava type anger— at his words. It feels more like an outright refusal, a rejection. He’s rejecting her, isn’t he? 

“Is it cause we’re in Shapiro’s house?”

“No, Devi—”

“We can go to my place if you want—”

“Devi—”

“Oh come on, Benjamin Gross. You've never had drunken one night stands with women before?” she seethes, watching him retreat back, her back remaining connected to the wall. 

“It’s different with you,” he replies, eyebrows furrowed. “You know it is.”

“What’s so different, huh? What’s the difference between me and some stranger you don’t know?”

“The difference is that I care about you—”

“You care about me? Really?”

“Of course I do—”

“Well then, stop. Stop caring about me!”

“Devi,” he exasperates, hurt written all over his face. “Is something wrong?”

Her heart drops to her feet. He’s doing it again. He’s _caring_ about her, emotionally, and it’s hurting her all too much. It’s making her head fucking _throb,_ and god, why didn’t Disney ever tell kids that feelings aren’t as easy to act on as movies say they are? “Just get out, please,” she demands, voice no louder than whisper, gaze dropping to the floor.

“Devi—”

“God, Ben, get out. Please!”

He stays quiet for a while, before buttoning up his shirt again. It’s a sign that he is actually going to leave, that he’s heeding to what she’s saying, and it somehow makes her disappointed and relieved all at the same time. 

“I asked you once before, and you never answered me. So I’m asking you once again,” comes Ben’s voice after an unbreakable streak of silence, soft and faint, almost as if he’d just breathed out his words. 

“What am I to you?”

“You’re my friend,” she responds, habitually. Deep inside her head, a voice is scoffing, laughing at her and chastising her about how pathetically _wrong_ she is. But what they just did was stupid. Ben is right. It was stupid. She can’t lose him altogether like this. “And I’m sorry. We can pretend like this never happened.”

“So… this was all a mistake?”

“Wasn’t it?”

“Excluding the alcohol… it was all a mistake?”

Devi’s eyebrows knit into a furrow, and she crosses her arms, a little irked at his uncertainty. “You were right. It’s stupid, us getting together in the first place. Drunk or not.”

“Oh,” he hums, then drops his hands to his sides, heading towards the doorframe. “Okay then. Uh, I’m gonna head out a little early, if you see Shapiro, then let him know. Yep. Bye.”

With those awkward words, his figure eventually disappears into the abyss of people in the living room, Devi left with her lost heart and confusing thoughts.

* * *

_FADE INTO:_

**_INT. COFFEE EXPRESS - DAY._ **

_The shop is just as packed, but this time, more people are in line for a cold drink rather than hot one. DEVI considers herself to be quite a normal— in the eyes of society— person, but she’s weirdly craving hot chocolate… in the sweaty month of June._

_The sound of a jingle at the door opening steals her attention, and she whips around, curiously peering at who it is. (** There isn’t much else to do while waiting in line **)_

_It’s BEN._

_She turns back around to face the front, cheeks flushing at the memory of their conversation at SHAPIRO’s house. She can’t even find it in herself to be surprised— at this point, life is clearly enjoying fucking her over._

_She spots him nearing the front counter through the corner of her eyes. He’s wearing a (** really fucking ugly **) Christmas sweater, and she has to resist the urge to make fun of him, biting the inside of her cheek instead. (** Maybe ordering hot chocolate during summer isn’t the stupidest thing one can do **)_

_He’s growing out his hair, curly strands bouncing a little up and down as he tries to read the items on the menu. DEVI hides herself from him in the line, while simultaneously hoping he’ll spot her at the same time. (** What even??? **)_

_He looks a little funny, with squinted eyes and a tired smile. So funny that she accidentally breaks into light laughter. It catches his attention quickly._

**_BEN_ **

_Devi?_

**_DEVI_ **

_Gross! What’s up?_

**_BEN_ **

_Not much. You?_

_She mulls it over while he’s finalizing his order. There’s been a weird lull after they shot the first season. It’s only been two weeks since the wrap-up party. (** And that terrible thing with Ben **) Months of work, and then waiting. That switch creates a mix of anxiety and emptiness, like she’s lost her purpose in life._

**_DEVI_ **

_Not much here either. My life is just as drab as yours, but less depressing by a few degrees._

_He doesn’t laugh like usual— instead smiles tightly. It feels heavily forced._ _She steps back, waiting for him to but in line like he once did, waiting for him to tease her and argue with her._

_But he doesn’t._

_He bends his head slightly, regarding her by looking her in the eyes, before turning around and heading to the back of the line._

**_DEVI_ **

_Wait!_

_He turns around, offering her a sliver of a smile she doesn’t deserve._

**_BEN_ **

_Yes, Devi?_

_Her throat runs dry._

**_DEVI_ **

_Why— why are you calling me— what happened to David?_

_He thins his lips, addressing her with a stern gaze._

**_BEN_ **

_I didn’t think you liked it, so…_

**_DEVI_ **

_Who said that?_

**_BEN_ **

_I just… kind of assumed—_

**_DEVI_ **

_Why would you do that?_

_He lets out a soft sigh, and heads to the end of the line at the same time she reaches the front. Ordering is a little tougher than usual, her mind already occupied with worries about BEN._

_DEVI’s about to leave out the door, but finds her feet unable to move. Instead, she stands dumbly next to BEN, silently demanding an answer._

**_BEN_ **

_Okay, Devi, I— it’s just weird now, okay? You didn’t answer any of my texts for the past two weeks after what happened at Shapiro’s place, even after you claimed we were friends and— it just doesn’t feel like before anymore._

“But that’s not what I want,” she begins, admittedly a little panicked. “I want it to feel like before. Before was _easy._ ”

She can tell Ben is struggling to keep eye contact, because his gaze flickers from the drink in her hand, to her feet, to her face. “Well, life isn’t easy. Of course, we’re still friends but—”

“But?”

“—but I don’t think we can go back to normal. We’re not addressing something and it’s clearly coming in between us. Plus, if we don’t get a renewal, we might never see each other again and—”

“You promised that you wouldn’t forget me— forget us,” she exclaims, louder this time, and cocks an eyebrow at him in reprimand. 

He presses his lips together into a tight smile, but it feels sad, expresses clear hurt. “Well, I was starting to get the feeling that you _wanted_ me to forget you.”

She drops her gaze to where she’s curling her hands into loose fists, feeling the rough pads of her fingers brush against her palm. It all feels so accusatory, as if shit hit the fan only because of her. Makes her feel like the bad guy, like she’s the villain of her own story. 

Embarrassment. 

She feels _embarrassment._

And then, she laughs. Laughs once, and then twice, studying the confusion etched on his facial muscles, before walking out the door. 

* * *

It’s no surprise that two weeks later, she’s sitting in the passenger seat of Ben’s stupid, stupid Porsche. 

Staying in a new city for longer than a year clearly took a toll on her, and with her finally getting a break after rigorously working on _Make the Best Of It_ , she’s decided to go back home, and stay with her family for a while. 

Problem was: she needed a means of transport to get her to the airport. 

Other problem: Eleanor, Paxton, Fabiola, Rebecca and every other person she knows was busy and occupied. 

Additional problem: Except Ben. 

Devi’s more surprised he agreed, with a meek _'sure, I’ll drop you off'_ over the phone. Then again, she's grateful he said yes... she was afraid she’d look like a loser after dealing with his rejection. 

The universe is playing games with her, she just knows it. Forcing her and Ben together, trying to make her life miserable. 

(Truth is, she was kind of missing him—)

Devi gulps, running a thumb along the inside of the door handle, looking at the moving landscape outside the window. 

So, apparently Ben is all extremes when it comes to driving. Either he goes too damn slow when they hit roads that are a bit narrower than usual, or he speeds down long stretches of empty spaces, streets, hits corners at turns. It’s not like this is new information— hell, on his first day at work he’d mentioned his car breaking down, which at the the time she didn’t understand, but now it makes sense. She’s also been dropped off by him once, the day at the coffee shop, but it was a fairly short drive. 

They haven’t talked once, save for the formal greeting, and it’s so mind-bogglingly unlike them that she’s compelled to bang her head against the dashboard. 

“Why did you agree to drive me?” she finally asks, breaking the silence. 

“Because,” he starts. “You’re my friend.”

She looks to her side, glancing at him. “That’s not what you said in the coffee shop.”

“I never said we weren’t friends. I said we were friends, but pointed out how impossible it is to go back to normal after... _that._ I was being realistic.”

“Realistic,” she scoffs, laughing dryly. 

“Hey, I don’t regret stopping us from going further that night. It could have ended badly,” he explains, while easing the car to the left. “I didn’t want us to do things mindlessly. If we do something like that, it should be when we’re sure.”

She bends back, back adjusting to the form of the seat. Damn these expensive cars and their plush, ergonomic seat designs. “Sure about what?”

“About… feelings.”

_Feelings._

They were never good with feelings. 

“Can we just go back to two months ago? Rewind a little? Please? For my sanity?”

Ben finally laughs, genuinely this time, turning their last corner before they hit a long stretch of road. Closer to the airport now, Devi can spot a lot more cars than when they’d left. 

“Of course, that’s why I decided to drop you off,” he says, tone much more at ease. “Normalcy shall return— shit!” 

It’s wicked fast, cutting right in front of them as Ben looks to his right, checking before switching lanes, so Devi does the next best thing— reaches for the wheel and grips it with both hands, steering them a little more to the right, farther away from where that asshole of a bike rider just sped past them. She doesn’t have a license, but she’s played enough Mario Kart to know how to swerve dangerously in a cool car. 

“What the actual fuck?” Ben wheezes, voice cracking at the last word. His eyes are bugged out, his eyebrows are furrowed into a tight knot, his voice is rougher than usual, and he’s pressing down hard on his car horn, angrily honking at the motorcycle that just sped past them. His hands are still tightly wound around the wheel, knuckles taunting an even brighter white with each passing second— and he’s pale all over, his entire face crumpled in a mix of shock and fear and anger. 

“The fuck is wrong with that guy? Asshole,” he chokes out. 

Devi’s heart is still racing, shock taking its sweet time to settle in, as well as the reminder that this isn’t a dream and that a collision could have been possible. 

What surprises her— or doesn’t really— is that Ben immediately looks to his side, eyebrows still furrowed and lips parted into a scowl, as he looks over Devi, like he’s trying to see if she bumped her head or injured herself. Soon, the creases of his features ease up a little. 

“Your Porsche is, uh… pretty responsive. Cool safety tech,” she mutters, a measly sentence but a coherent one nevertheless.

He blinks, before sighing. “Yeah, it’s, uh. Uh, responsive. Really great car. Super great.”

Then, he pauses. 

“Are you okay?” Ben finally asks, speaking the words as if he’s lifting a weight off of his chest. 

Devi bites the inside of her cheek, eyes glued to his hands. If she stares at them a little harder than maybe she’ll be able to spot a tiny tremor there, a sudden jerk of his fingers more than anything else, but he’s clenching and unclenching his fists faster than she can observe. 

“Uh, yeah,” she grits out. “You?”

“Yeah.” He heaves a sigh once more, then revs the car back to life, slowly pressing on the gas. “That wasn’t my fault, right?”

“No,” she affirms, shaking her head. “That stupid motorcycle driver is the one to blame here.”

“Okay, good, cause if I was the reason you got hurt—” He immediately freezes, and then rearranges his expression, evening it out to something more neutral. “—if _we_ got hurt, then I wouldn’t be able to live with myself.”

That itty-bitty butterfly in her stomach sparks up again, a flutter running throughout her body. 

They don’t talk for the rest of the ride, not when he rolls over several speedbumps and she yelps, not when they drive into the dark basement where he can park his car. 

It’s once he’s finally found a parking spot that the quietness is dented. 

“This is fucking heavy,” he grunts while lifting her suitcase from his trunk. It lands on the concrete floor with a thud, wheels rolling. “What do you have in there? Rocks? A body?”

“Ben,” she gasps, smacking the side of his arm without thinking. His smile falters a little when she does that, cheeks burning up. Or maybe her cheeks are the ones burning up. “Don’t say things like that, I could seriously get in trouble!”

He quirks an eyebrow, smirking. “Oddly defensive. What’s in there?”

“My clothes, some chocolates—”

“You and your chocolates. Is it some sort of family tradition? To bring chocolates to parties or when you’re travelling?”

Usually she’d be annoyed at his quips, but today, she’s just glad he’s finally acting normal with her. “You’re right, actually. Courtesy to my mother. Thank her for all the free Toblerone you’ve gotten.”

“ _Vannakam,_ ” he says, in an extremely butchered accent, but she’s more flattered that he knows the word in the first place. 

“That means hello, Gross,” she corrects, the corners of her mouth tugging up, contradicting his frown at his mistake. “The word you’re looking for is _nandri._ ”

“Oh,” he whispers, and then grins again. “Then tell Mrs. Vishwakumar that I said _nandri._ ”

“I will.” She pulls out the handle to her luggage, the same time he shuts his trunk. “How do you say 'thank you' in Hebrew?”

He lights up, a peculiar glimmer in his eyes, one that Devi has never seen before. “ _Todah,_ ” he answers. 

“Well then. _Todah,_ for driving me here.”

“It’s no problem,” he responds. Then, he looks her in the eyes, straight and serious. “Have a nice time with your family. Enjoy your two weeks at home.”

She smiles coyly. “I will. Spend your time well here. Don’t stay cooped at home! Go out with Fab and Trent.”

He nods. “Okay.”

She takes that as her signal to turn around and head to the elevator, wheels rolling against the floor with a loud sound resembling thunder. 

“Bye, David!”

Devi immediately whips around at the sound of her nickname, and makes out Ben’s figure, small and far away. He’s leaning against the back of his car, keys dangling from one hand, other hand up in the air waving. He flashes a radiant smile— big, bright and much like the smile she’s gotten accustomed to.

She doesn’t want to leave him. 

Still, she shoots him finger guns mischievously, yelling a “Goodbye, Ben,” before turning around. That mischievousness immediately switches to wistfulness.

And just like that, she’s back where she started.

Pining for something without even knowing it.

* * *

Devi has never wanted to blow her brains out more than now.

She’s happy to be home, ecstatic even, to be able to sleep in a comfy bed and walk around in grey pajamas, staring at yellow, bright, effervescent colored walls. 

But dear lord, her mother loves to nag.

It would be alright if she wasn’t a grown ass adult, with a job and bills to pay of her own. She’s tired of being lectured on what to do, and what not to do. She’s fairly certain her mother is only more pissy now because she’s starting to grow sick of her job— if planning to retire early isn’t enough evidence. 

Kamala, on the other hand, is as calm as ever. Ever since she found out Devi's back home, she’s been visiting the house at evenings after work with Prashant and her four year old child— who, by the way, is the cutest human to exist.

Prashant, as much as he seems like the textbook definition of a pushover, is surprisingly wittier and handsomer than Devi ever remembered him being. Maybe it comes with the age, or having a child, or both. 

Her niece, Anya, as cute as she is, can also be sport-loud, bossy and annoying when she doesn’t get her way. And now that she’s newly started school, she’s been talking nonstop all day everyday about made up scenarios that supposedly happened in class. 

It’s only been three days, but she’s already molded back into her old ways, lounging on a couch with her niece sitting beside her. Her mother is out working a night shift, and Kamala and Prashant have left Anya with Devi to have her babysit while they’re gone somewhere— probably a date night out. 

“Anya,” she begins with a pained tone. “Give me my phone back.”

The girl doesn’t budge, eyes glued to the screen as she swipes a red jellybean across an orange candy, eyes widening when it pops. 

Stupid _Candy Crush._ Actually, no, stupid Ben— he was the one who downloaded it onto her phone in the first place. 

“Okay, look, you’ve been playing on your aunt’s phone for too long now. Be a good girl and give it back.” Devi finishes with a smile. It doesn’t quite reach her eyes, doesn’t brighten up her features like it normally would, but it does ease the furrow of her eyebrows just a touch. 

Anya looks up to regard her, before shaking her head, kicking her small feet as her legs hang off the couch. 

“Ugh, should’ve never let Ben download that stupid app—”

“Ben? Who’s Ben?” The little girl perks up, and Devi groans. Of course, now she’s listening intently. 

“He’s my coworker,” she replies, taking in a shaky breath. 

Anya purses her lips, deep in thought. “I don’t know what that word is,” she says innocently, and then after a beat, smiles connivingly. “Is he your boyfriend?”

Devi chokes on her own spit, straightening immediately. “What— no! So you know the word boyfriend but not the word coworker, alright.”

Just then, her phone conveniently buzzes, and her heart drops immediately after she sees the contact name. 

_Ben Gross._

“Anya, give it to me now!” she yells, hand extended, but the little girl holds the phone away, stretching as far as she can to hold it out of her reach. One tap, and then suddenly, his voice is booming throughout the room. 

_“David! What’s up?”_

Anya scrunches her nose. “Who's David?”

Devi groans. Breathes in. Breathes out. And then lunges towards her niece, jumping on where she’s splayed across the couch to grab her phone.

A few yelps come out, some from Anya, most from Devi, as they fight for the device. Eventually, they both end up on their knees, phone in the middle of both of their grips.

“Hey Ben,” comes Devi's voice, shaky and tired. She heaves a sigh, wiping the sweat off of her forehead with one hand. “I’m good. How are you?”

“Ben,” Anya whispers, eyes lighting up. “Is this your—”

“So, Ben!” Devi exclaims, panicked. “Why are you— let go you brat— why are you calling me?”

He coughs awkwardly. _“Uh… I was bored, sitting at home. We hadn’t really talked since I dropped you off so I thought I’d check up on you but—”_

Devi yanks on her phone, and Anya yanks back with equal force. 

_“—is this a bad time?”_

“No, no!” She titters nervously, her vessel of patience running dry. “It’s just—”

“Hi Uncle Ben,” Anya speaks, and Devi pales almost immediately at the use of the word _uncle._

The line goes silent for a while, and she worries that it’s chased him away, but then comes his voice, steady and calm. _“Hello! Who are you?”_

“I’m Anya,” she answers, beaming. “Princess of the Sheridan Oaks Kingdom!”

Devi rolls her eyes, but to her surprise, Ben makes an _ah_ sound, like he’s genuinely impressed. _“Wow, honored to meet you, Princess.”_

Her eyes brighten at his words, and it makes Devi’s heart melt. “I like your boyfriend. He’s nice!” she exclaims loudly, before finally letting go of the phone, tiny feet pattering away as she runs to her room while pretending to have fairy wings. 

Devi blinks, once, and then twice, before letting out a sigh. “Uh, sorry about that. She likes to throw words around here and there. Uh, yeah, sorry.”

_“It’s no problem,”_ he replies, and she’s relieved. _“By the way, who was that?”_

“My niece. Well, she’s my cousin’s daughter, so… not really a niece but you get it.” She huffs as she takes a proper seat, pulling strands of hair away from her face. 

_“She’s cute.”_

Her heart skips a beat. “Yeah. At least, most of the time. Other times she’s just a straight up brat.”

_“Hey, kids will be kids.”_

“Easy for you to say. You’ve always been the tiny human whisperer, not me. I’m more of a dog person.”

_“Devi... did you just compare a baby to a dog? You’re unbelievable,”_ he says, but the way he’s speaking makes it obvious he’s grinning.

She loves the sound of his smile over the phone. The way he draws out her name, so teasing yet full of affection. His tone, always warm and light. Comforting.

_“I bet you're good with babies, you just haven’t met the right one yet.”_

She scoffs. “Anyways, have you done anything fun?”

_“Celebrated Trent’s birthday with the dudes. Was promised a party, ended up being led to a strip club. Needless to say I left two hours early,”_ he pauses, audibly shivering in fright. _“You know, cause I’m not that type of guy.”_

“Right,” she mutters, unconvinced. Rubbing the tip of her nose, she lets out a yawn, glancing at the clock. “Have I been missed?”

_“By who exactly?”_

“By uh… anyone?”

_“Of course,”_ he answers with ease. _“Specifically this one guy. You’ll be flattered to know he’s been missing you.”_

Devi wraps an arm across her stomach, in the same way she does whenever she feels butterflies arising, as if her arm will keep them down. “Oh yeah? Why?”

_“Because he’s super cool, and really smart, and really handsome.”_

“Seems like he’s full of himself,” she retorts, arching an eyebrow.

_“False,”_ he says, and she can envision his face, the menace of his grin, the crinkle of his eyes. That stupid smirk that makes her want to draw on his face with permanent marker.

Suddenly, she remembers the embarrassing words of Anya, and reddens.

“Again, sorry about Anya calling you uncle... and the whole boyfriend thing—”

_“Hey, it’s okay,”_ comes his voice, assuring. _“I don’t mind it. Being assumed as your boyfriend.”_

_Oh._

She doesn't know what to make of that— it’s never been her forte, really, the art of figuring out one’s romantic emotions a bit too hard to master. “I—”

_“Okay, I gotta go. Bye, have fun!”_

“Bye.” The call cuts with a resounding beep, and she stares at her phone dumbly, now just a black screen.

“I want a boyfriend like Ben,” Anya speaks from behind the wall, reentering the room with a toy car in her hand.

“He's not my boyfrie—” Devi stops talking, mulling it over. It would be a crime to break her heart, especially since her niece seems to like him so much. 

“You’re four. No boyfriends for you!” she commands instead, and Anya slumps, before giggling. 

* * *

“Ugh, for the last time; no Mom, I didn’t have sex in New York.”

“Are you telling me the truth? Because I can immediately sense everytime you lie. Your nose grows bigger, like Chucky—”

“Pinocchio,” Devi corrects.

“Yeah, whatever, tomatoes, _tamatoes._ Anyways, I need you to do something for me. You’ll do it, won't you? For your poor old mother?” Nalini juts out her lower lips and furrows her eyebrows in a look that… Devi wants to wipe it off her face, _god._ It’s not that it looks weird on her, or that it makes her look ten times scarier than she is— it’s because in all the years she’s known her mother, she’s come to memorize her facial expressions. And she knows all too well that this one means trouble in bold, _capitalized._

“Should I be scared?”

Nalini scoffs, and disregards her words. “While I’m out buying groceries, I need you to call everyone in my phonebook—”

“Phonebook? It’s the twenty-first century…” the writer groans, leaning her weight against the kitchen counter.

“—and invite them to our house for dinner tomorrow.”

Devi pauses, twisting her mouth to one side. “Dinner? Tomorrow? Why?”

“It’s your dad’s birthday tomorrow,” she answers, with a sigh and lost eyes, an expression Devi had to start getting accustomed to ever since freshman year. “I never told you, but... when you moved to New York and Kamala moved in with Prashant, I felt lonely. So I started hosting a dinner party on his special day.”

The younger one’s jaw hangs slack. “...Oh.”

“Okay, I’ll be back in twenty minutes or so. Don’t do anything dumb while I’m gone.”

Devi refrains from commenting on the fact that she’s a grown twenty-five year old, and bites her tongue, watching her mother walk out the door with a weird burning in her stomach. Their relationship is still in that weird gray area— some days it’s perfect, some days it feels like she’s been thrown back to ten years ago when she was a raging prepubescent teenager. 

Truth is, she can sit here and try to work out the kinks of the rather twisted relationship she has with her mother, but it would be taking steps backwards. They’ve already come so far. 

Years of therapy, group therapy, and some more, she’s learnt to deal with her grief and her guilt. Her trauma. 

But right now, standing alone in the middle of her old kitchen, all she can think about is—

She shakes her head, shutting her eyes. Moving on in New York was easier— the setting was different, everything was new, nothing reminded of her…

Her father. 

Devi’s throat starts to tighten. All she can think of is how much she _doesn’t_ want to be alone right now.

Almost as if the universe is extending out a helping hand, her phone buzzes on the counter. She scrambles to get it, gripping her phone with such a tight hold that she’s afraid her phone will fold into itself.

“Ben,” she whispers, hoarsely.

_“Hi,”_ he answers, a bit more different than his usual tone. _“How are you?”_

There’s concern laced in his voice, somewhere between the sound waves. “I’m fine,” she replies, gently dropping to her knees. “Just don’t stop talking.”

_“Alright,”_ comes his voice after a few beats, soft, almost delicate, just above a whisper. It brings warmth to her cold, clammy skin. _“What do you want me to talk about?”_

“Anything interesting… and not depressing.”

_“Okay, well… you know how I sent you that article about old poets? Well, they may all be old white men, but one of the old white men, Lord Byron, was a really interesting man.”_

There’s something subtly endearing about the topic Ben chooses— how he doesn’t waste time in talking about anything, about how he just jumps straight to enlightening her in the life of an old poet who’s name she only vaguely remembers from her classes.

“Ugh, boring.” Devi shivers. Or she tries to, at least, because there’s no denying the gentle tug pulling at the corners of her mouth, coaxing her lips up into a smile. “Keep going.”

_“He was a poet who, interestingly enough, was also famous for things other than his poetic creations. This man has a personal life that puts the Kardashians to shame!”_

“I remember learning about him in Lit class, but the professor made it seem so boring…”

_“I know, I hated my Lit classes back in Yale. But Byron was lowkey the bad boy of the Romantic Era. And he was assumed to like both men and women.”_ Then, he pauses his rambling, clearing his throat before tentatively asking, _“Are you okay?”_

Devi finds herself a little shocked at how easily he’s distracted her already, the sweat that was once transpiring down her forehead and in between the creases of her palm completely vanished. The only thing that remains is a pink tint, one that travels up her neck and brushes across her two cheeks.

“Yeah,” she says. “Thank you.”

_“No problem,”_ he replies, sounding much more breezy now. Suddenly, he erupts into a lovely peal of laughter, and her heart hiccups. _“Sorry, I just thought of a funny joke Eleanor told me at the restaurant today.”_

“Devi! What are you doing on the floor?”

She perks up, whipping around like a thief guilty of robbery, staring at her mother from where she is on the floor.

“Uh… just cleaning something up… that I spilled.”

Nalini rolls her eyes, placing a hand on her hip. “Classic Devi. I give her one job, she gives me twenty more.”

Ben snorts at hearing Nalini’s sarcastic quip, and now it’s Devi’s turn to roll her eyes. “I’ll talk to you later,” she whispers, hoping that the promise of her words pulls through. 

_“Come back soon,”_ he mumbles, in a mishmash of words, and it’s a little evident that those words were meant to be unheard when the call abruptly cuts. 

She gets up on her feet, looking her mother in the eyes. Nalini reads something there, makes sense of it, and her demeanor instantly switches to something more colorful. “Guess who I saw at _Walmart_ today?”

“The guy from _Costco_ that tried to sell you anti-aging cream?”

Nalini widens her eyes, bugs them out in a way only Devi’s used to. “How did you know?”

As her mother rambles on, Devi lets herself loosen up, the tension in her shoulders disappearing. She’s grateful for Ben’s call— what would have happened if his name hadn’t shown up on her phone screen at that exact moment?

Ben means a hell of a lot to her. She’s certain now more then ever. Sometimes, she doesn’t know if he realizes it, he’s clueless enough to not understand, but… he’s _shaped_ her. Pushes her to be a little better than she was yesterday. And she can’t pinpoint what it is about him that makes her do this, but… there’s something. 

And a subject she despises despite being an English major— ancient poetry, ugh— is something that he can somehow sell as interesting to her. 

He makes her feel alive, he makes her look forward to the tomorrows and the day after tomorrows of the future.

Ben... has given her soul a _renaissance._

* * *

“So, that boy, huh?” Nalini utters out of nowhere, the day before Devi’s flight back to New York. The ambiguity of her sentence throws Devi off the rails a bit, but she coughs out a reply anyways.

“What boy?”

“This _Ben_ you’ve been talking to over the phone… what does he want from you?”

Devi rolls her eyes almost immediately, heating up as if she’s a teenager talking to her mother about a crush she has (god forbid she _ever_ had those while growing up). “Nothing, Mom, _god._ He’s just my friend.”

“Mhm,” she hums, mouth occupied with chewing on rice. Once she gulps it down, her glare pointens. “Really? Then why do you have that weird smile on your face when you talk to him?”

_Kill me now,_ groans a voice in Devi’s head. She brushes it off, cracks her neck, drops her gaze to to her feet, and tries her hardest to seem nonchalant. “Shouldn’t we be taking about your retirement plans?”

It effectively shuts her mother up, but only for a short while. “Hey, I think it’s about time. I don’t want to be popping pimples when I’m sixty.” 

“You’re not sixty _yet,_ ” she replies. “Retire _when_ you’re sixty. Kamala agrees with me, by the way.”

Nalini lets out a laugh, leaning back into her chair. “You know, _kanna,_ I used to be worried about how you were going to live in New York City, all by yourself. I didn’t want you to leave my safety net… but look at you now. I’m very proud of you.”

Devi cocks an eyebrow, feeling a little taken aback at the genuinely heartfelt words coming from her mother’s mouth. “Wow, uh… thank you, but… that was sudden.”

Her misty gaze snaps back into the haughty expression that’s usually scrawled into her features, as she places her spoon down onto the empty plate. “What? A mother can’t compliment her daughter nowadays?”

“Oh no, _you_ doing it is a little out of the ordinary.”

Nalini gets up from the chair, surprising Devi as she takes her plate with her own to the sink. “I’m just going to miss you, that’s all.”

Devi finds herself grinning at that statement like a total goon. “I love you,” she says without preamble, shocking herself.

“I love you too,” comes her mother’s instant reply. “Oh, by the way, you should ask that Ben guy out before it’s too late.”

“Mom,” she groans, gritting her teeth. “Just had to ruin the moment, huh?”

“I’m just warning you,” Nalini says, running the tap against the soapy surface of the plates. 

“You’re only saying this because you’re scared I won’t get married soon.”

“Well, it’s high-time you settled down, but… that’s not why I’m telling you this. I think you like him, and from the stories you’ve told me about him, I think he likes you too,” she explains, in the midst of drying off dishware. 

Devi twists in her chair, biting her bottom lip. “I don’t know if I like him romantically, but… I feel better when I’m with him. What's that about?”

It’s quite frankly ridiculous, seeking romantic advice from her _mother—_ usually Kamala is her go-to love guru— but apparently it's come to this urgent point.

“L-O-V-E. Love,” is all Nalini says, before humming the tune of an old Bollywood song Devi distantly recognizes as _Lag Jaa Gale._

_Love?_ Pff. As if. 

Still, Devi can’t help but listen to that tiny voice in her head, the one that keeps saying _'you love him'_ over and over again. There’s a niggling fear at the back of her mind that she’ll lose any chance she could have with him if she doesn’t act on it soon, that someone as great as Ben will easily get another life partner, and that it won’t be her. The fear that her mother is right.

But then again, if she doesn’t love him, it shouldn’t matter whether Ben dates other women or not. 

So then… why does it matter to Devi?

* * *

On usual flights, Devi likes to watch a good movie, and sleep while listening to music until the flight attendant wakes her up with the smell of pretzels in tiny packets, and apple juice. 

This time around, things are different. 

She spends half of her time watching Rick and Morty, a show she doesn’t even like, but no, it just _has_ to make her all warm inside because it reminds her of Ben. 

And then, she asks for orange juice instead of apple juice, because Ben always drinks it. She hates it, by the way, the first sip sending a bitter sting down her tongue, but she drinks the rest of it anyways, with a shudder or two.

And when she’s rolling her suitcase across the shiny floors of baggage claim, all she can think about is how heavy her bag is— the words of a certain boy specifically reverberates in her head— _“What do you have in there? Rocks? A body?”—_ and it’s so frustrating because he was fucking _right._ Even with all the chocolates out of her bag, it’s still lugging her down.

It’s like all her thoughts collide into one when she spots Ben outside, with crossed arms and squinting eyes. 

He lights up immediately when he spots her trailing towards him, waving excitedly. “Hi,” he exasperates. “Fab couldn’t make it, so here I am to the rescue.”

Devi doesn’t say anything, just looks on, the corners of her mouth pulling up into an easy smile until silence stretches between them, a looming presence in the very little distance they have in between. There they are again, at a standstill, where the air around them thins into white noise and she can feel her heartbeat thumping and hear a high pitched whinging sound in her head. 

_Fuck._ She needs to tell him about her feelings, whatever they mean. She needs to tell him before she goes _insane._

“I need to tell you something,” she says, at the same time Ben does. “You go first.”

Ben swallows nervously, while taking her luggage from her, and leading her to his car. “El set me up on a blind date.”

The world collapses on her shoulders when she hears those words, processes them, and then imprints it into her brain like a scar.

“Oh,” she whispers, gaze lingering on the side of Ben’s face as he carefully places her bag into the trunk of his car. His forehead crinkles into a look of adorable concentration, arm muscles flexing and jutting out of his skin as he lets out a grunt.

She snaps out of it in instant, though. Now, she can’t do things like that anymore. 

Her mother was right. 

She’s too late.

“Yeah, I know. She just set it up out of nowhere, without even telling me.” He shuts the trunk with a loud _bang,_ sighing. 

“So… you’re still gonna go through with it?”

He walks over to the car door, yanking it open. “Yeah. I mean, why not, right?”

Ben casts her a glance, one that lingers on her lips much longer than normal, almost as if he’s asking her to tell him something. Begging her to.

“Don’t say anything,” Devi hums, then tilts her face up again, before stepping closer to him. She places steadying hands on both of his shoulders, pulling him close into the crook of her neck, bodies pressed against each other in a warm embrace. 

He can tell by the way he falters for a bit before reciprocating, that he definitely _wants_ to say something. But he heeds to her request anyway, silently bringing his arms up to circle around her waist. 

“What was that for?” is the first thing he asks once she pulls away, and her heart does that weird fluttering thing it’s been doing lately when she’s with him. “Oh, didn’t you have something to tell me too?”

She ponders on telling him everything she was planning on spilling, but on second thought, swallows it back down. Allows herself to let her eyes linger on Ben, just for a while, before snapping herself out of it, preventing herself from falling into a trance. 

“This is great news. I’m happy for you.”

His smile falters. “You are?”

“I am.” She nods too, as if that'll convince him, and maybe herself. It’s better if she doesn’t ruin his life anyways, with her temper and her colossal ability to deflect. 

Maybe things are better this way.

His response is a light shake of his head and the clearing of his throat, and for a moment he teeters forward, but then he’s in the driver’s seat before she can even blink. 

With pressed lips, she plops down onto the passenger seat without complaint. 

Ben immediately turns the AC up when she fans herself with her used tickets. 

It only makes her burn more.

* * *

“You set him up on a blind date?!”

Eleanor stares, and then shudders in her seat. “I’m sensing a real negative vibe here…”

“Negative vibe? Yeah, well, no shit! How could you do this to me?” 

Eleanor wrinkles her nose, evidently— and rightfully— confused. “Why should it matter if I set the guy up on a date? It’s not like he’s seeing you!” Then she gets up, and now there’s anger scrawled over her face— not obvious, but it’s definitely there, as she braces herself. “And you can’t just come knocking on my door at three in the night to yell at me for doing something that isn’t even morally wrong!”

Devi takes a deep, deep breath and curls her fingers into loose fists. It’s high time she comes to terms with whatever the fuck she’s feeling, this high tirade of jealousy that really doesn't make any sense whatsoever— but somehow does. And it’s time to take a deep dive into her feelings, to open the jailcell she’s kept them locked inside for months. Either she goes all in or she doesn’t take a leap of faith at all.

She’s always believed in giving her two hundred percent, if not her five hundred, in whatever she does, and that should include this.

“You shouldn’t have done that because I like him!”

“You like him?” Eleanor juts out her lower lip, and then furrows her eyebrows. “Wait, so this whole time you hated him?”

“No, I have _feelings_ for him! It’s just, I kind of realized when I was back home but— forget it,” she mutters, after dragging her nails down the sides of her face, and then proceeds to plop down next to where Eleanor is comfortably seated on her couch. "Don't you dare say _I told you so._ "

“I told you so. Can’t believe it took you this long to come to terms with the fact that you’re in love with the guy.”

“Woah, _love_ is a very strong word—”

“But you love him, don’t you?”

Devi sighs. “You’re the worst,” she grits out, but lets her shoulders fall forward when she exhales. The truth is, for all of Eleanor’s being a know-it-all ass, she’s also helped her actually burrow into her feelings. It’s too late now to act on them, but, it’s a feat that Devi’s even admitted to herself that she… well, she’s kinda in love with Ben Gross.

“How are things going with Paxton?”

“Great, actually. Oliver took the break-up well, too. I’m just glad everything worked out.”

Devi hums, resting her head against the other’s shoulder. 

“Thank you,” Eleanor whispers, ever so quietly. “For talking to Paxton that night.”

Devi snorts. Shifts a little and folds a leg under her weight. “No biggie.”

“You should talk to him before Sunday.”

“What?”

“Ben. You should tell him everything before Sunday, the day of the date I set him up on. I mean, are you just gonna let him go on a date with someone else?”

“Uh,” Devi slumps in her seat. “I was kind of planning on it, yeah.”

“No,” she shrieks, completely disgusted. “Hell no! Talk to him.”

“Look, our show is coming out in three days, and—”

“Perfect! That’s Friday. Promise me you’ll do it?”

Somehow, Devi finds her pinky interlaced with Eleanor’s in the empty promise of something she’s certain she’ll never have the guts to do.

* * *

She didn’t do it.

Didn’t tell him about her feelings, that is. 

His blind date didn’t seem to work out either, if the _‘lol still single </3’ _text he sends to the groupchat wasn’t enough evidence. 

The knots in Devi’s stomach whenever he calls her have long loosened. If anything, she’s just… trying to shake the last dregs of lethargy and regret out of her system now. They peaked when she was watching the pilot episode, watching herself kiss Ben on TV, watching herself get married to Ben, watching herself raise a baby with him.

Good thing their characters die right after.

She’s lounging lazily on her couch on a dark evening, eyes glued to watching a rerun of the finale that aired the night before, when her phone buzzes. 

_You have (1) notification, unlock to view_

Grumpily, she types in her passcode, eyes still half-mast.

_Bet with Ben ends today: who's episode got the highest rating?_

In the blink of an eye, her body is moving without command, arms grabbing for her keys, legs running out of her door and straight to a bus, limbs flailing frantically as all her feelings come rushing back, even more invigorating than before. This bet is the key— it’s given her a reason, an excuse to come over and see his stupid face in person.

“Hi,” is the first thing she utters when he opens the door, with disheveled hair and in grey pajamas that are loose enough to fit both him and her in.

“Hi,” he sighs back. “It’s been so long since I’ve last seen you in person.”

She decides not to waste time, considering she’s already wasted enough, and mutters, “I won.”

He blinks. Blinks again, and then tilts his head, quizzically. “Er, what?”

“I won the bet. My episode has a higher IMDB score.”

Ben jumps up, as if the coffee she can spot resting on his living room table has finally started jolting through his veins, at the sound of her challenging tone. “But the pilot has a higher Rotten Tomatoes score—”

“Finale got better reviews overall—”

“But every critic is most stingy when the first episode of the show comes out—”

“Stop! Shut up and listen to me you doofus,” she yells. Then, her lips press together into a thin, thin line, a complete contrast to the lilts in her tone. “Since I won, I get something in return, right?”

“Right,” he grumbles. He grips the side of the doorframe, in a way that makes her head spin. “So, what do you want? A Kinder egg? A necklace? My kidney, perhaps?”

At this point, she's not even afraid of rejection. “I want a kiss.”

“A— a kiss?” he stammers, blood shooting up his neck almost immediately. “From, uh, who? Look, I know you know my parents are rich, but… I mean, maybe Cole Sprouse would be up for it but not Nick Jonas—”

“No, uh… this guy won’t be that hard to get. For the job, that is. The job of kissing me.”

The corners of Ben’s mouth are pulled down into a frown, fingers drumming a hurried beat against the wood. “Okay, so… who?”

“Well, uh— he’s pretty short. Slightly taller than me. But he has some really nice hair, straight but curly at the ends, it’s lightish-darkish brown. And his eyes— they’re the most beautiful shade of blue, like the color of sapphire when it glints in the sun, or the tides of the ocean.” 

Something in his demeanor brightens up immediately, in recognition. 

“But his smile is my favorite part, the way his lips curl upwards into the shape of a parabola, the crinkle of his eyes, the animated way his eyebrows shoot upwards.”

Ben’s hand slips off the doorframe, as he starts to grin. “This guy sounds awfully familiar—”

“Just kiss me, you idiot.”

And then, the moment she’s been waiting for, an end to the incessant slowburn, arrives, and it’s just as wonderful as she imagined, if not more. If they were in a movie, then Devi is definitely sure there would be upsound in the background as soon as Ben grabs her by the waist, and moves his lips against hers in the most satisfying way— but this is real life. So instead, there’s only the dull hum of the air conditioning, the scent of cleaner wafting through the air, a centimeter of awkward space between them and a random resident who walks past the two in the hallway.

Real life feels just as good as the script she writes in her head when she’s bored, or when she’s in dire need of an escape from reality.

She’s somehow made it inside his apartment when he pulls away, and the first thing he does is lightly brush a strand of hair away from her face, letting his hand rest there. “You have no idea how long I’ve been waiting to do that.”

“We've kissed like, a minimum of three times.”

“Yeah, but, one where it didn’t end with me either hating myself for the rest of the night or a kiss where cameras weren’t pointed to our faces.”

She bites the inside of her cheek, bashfully avoiding his gaze. “I’m sorry for whatever I said that night at Shapiro's,” she whispers, fingers inadvertently playing with the fabric of his cotton T-shirt. 

“I’m sorry too,” he replies, his hand making itself comfortable on the curve of her cheek. 

(Since when were his hands so big, so large, so comforting, so incredibly grounding—)

Suddenly, Devi grimaces. "Is it bad that I'm glad your blind date thing didn't work out?"

"Well, it was because of you that it didn't, so," he replies, awkwardly.

"What?"

"I couldn't stop thinking about you, even when I was eating dinner with this lady, and... I figured it wasn't fair to her. So, I apologized and left."

She pouts. "Oh. I'm sorry for that too then."

"Don't be," he whispers, gently pecking her lips for the umpteenth time. "I'm glad."

“Look at us, ugh. So sappy,” she jokes, easing the mood. 

Ben looks at her like she’s the star to his wandering bark. “I kind of like it.”

She’ll never admit this verbally, but… she likes it too.

* * *

_FADE INTO:_

**_INT. NBC OFFICE - DAY._ **

_The scene opens with a tilt shot of the office. Sunlight casts harsh shadows on the walls, the chairs, the people moving about, the crew, but no one seems to mind the onslaught of pouring warmth. There’s a bigger worry looming around, enough to dispel the otherwise happy aura. (** Guess pathetic fallacy only works a smidge of the time **)_

**_ELEANOR_ **

_What if Shapiro called us here to tell us that our show got cancelled?_

_PAXTON rubs her arm comfortingly. He’s the least bothered by all this (** Maybe it’s also cause he’s already gotten thousands of new offers after the release of the show… lucky bastard **)_

**_PAXTON_ **

_It’s not the end of the world if it is._

_He receives glares from everyone._

**_DEVI_ **

_We got good reviews. A lot of people tuned in to watch it too. We’ll be fine._

_BEN looks up and to his side, then lets out a heavy exhalation when he meets DEVI’s gaze._

**_BEN_ **

_This is killing me._

**_FABIOLA_ **

_Hey, we’ll be fine._

“Heyo,” Shapiro says, entering with a slump. He drops his over-the-shoulder bag onto the conference table. From the looks of his pronounced frown, Devi’s almost certain that it’s bad news.

“We didn’t get a renewal, did we?” comes Eric’s voice.

Shapiro shakes his head, by just a touch. 

“Man, this sucks ass,” Trent mutters, starting an explosion of groans all around. All Devi feels is tightness in her chest, and judging by the way Ben circles his arm around her waist, chin resting on the crown of her head, she can tell he’s bummed too.

Then, out of nowhere, Shapiro starts to laugh. Maniacally.

Devi’s convinced he’s gone crazy. 

“I’m just kidding!”

Eleanor blinks, tears dissolving into hot rage. “What?”

“We got greenlit! Season two coming next year, baby! We did it homies!”

The room finally erupts into cheers and sighs of relief, all while Eleanor angrily stomps up to Shapiro and gives him a piece of her own mind. Devi looks up to regard Ben, who surprisingly, doesn’t seem shocked.

It clicks.

“You knew, didn’t you? You weren’t convinced.”

“Come on. Shapiro is a terrible actor,” he tuts.

“Even worse than you?” 

Ben snorts. He stares at Devi for a while, mouth twisted to the side a little and eyes squinted just a touch, and he’s shooting her a smile that leaves her tummy in knots, unruly little tangles. 

There is nothing she loves more than making him smile. His eyes crinkle at the edges, and the corner of his lips turn upwards. It never takes long, either. A sarcastic remark, an insult— in goodwill, of course— a joke, a musing about something around them… soon enough, she finds him grinning, and so is she.

And _laughing._ His laugh feels like a cool autumn breeze, an invigorating breath of life. It’s so, so contagious.

“This time, I’ll make sure to claim the first episode. Wouldn’t want you writing it again,” she says, eyes pointed— she can’t help but smile when he presses his lips against her forehead. 

“Not if I get it first.”

“I hate you,” Devi groans into the thin space between them. Laughter spills from the corners of her mouth when Ben’s lips brush against hers lightly. 

“I love you,” he murmurs, letting out a puff of air as he snickers, breath catching on Devi’s skin. This time, she doesn’t bite back the wicked grin stretching across her lips.

_ELEANOR screeches about throwing a party. Right beside her, PAXTON smiles, arm thrown around REBECCA, who seems equally enthralled. SHAPIRO pulls out a confetti blaster, and it pops open loudly, sending streamers across the room. DEVI and BEN normally wouldn’t budge, but when SHAPIRO nears them with wide, open arms, they hug him back with just as much force._

_The smile on her face keeps growing bigger, brighter, as they pull away, and join ELEANOR and FABIOLA in jumping around._

_Soon, all DEVI sees is BEN, in the midst of the chaos. She feels warm when he looks at her._

**_DEVI_ **

_I love you too._

_That one question he’s always asked her— ‘ What am I in your script? Who am I?’— finally has an answer. He’s a protagonist. Her friend. Her other half. Her soulmate. She hopes that this chapter of her life will never change, that whoever she knows, and cherishes are here to stay. BEN, FABIOLA, ELEANOR, PAXTON, REBECCA... hell, even SHAPIRO. She never wants them gone._

_Cut to a close up of DEVI and BEN’s faces scrunching up in laughter, the tips of their noses brushing against each other. Cut to that minute moment they pull away from each other, slowly, steadily, to meet each other in the eye._

_Freeze frame on the sentiment. Fade to black._


End file.
